A Deep Stream 🔷
Loneliness has spread to your eyes,
it seeps out when you speak.
Choirs of triers attend to your cries.
Pink plasters patch up your leak.
Sympathetic tones,
multiple missed calls.
Your well walls are too steep.
Angels on all fours,
barks of a lost cause
chase your somber sheep.
No sound.
No signal.
Too weak.
No ripples.
Two weeks of no sleep.
Are you ever going to tend to that pesky leak?
Sunken lips.
Shrunken heart.
Unbuttoned ribs.
Aphrodite's harp struggles to find your rift.
Hermits that dwell in bitter shacks can't be reasoned with.
You've misplaced your spark,
nothing left to give.
Sink,
sink,
sit and stare.
Sink,
sink,
your choir no longer cares.
Sink,
sink into your wading chair.
Sink,
sink,
your leak is beyond repair.
Sink,
sink
why don't you look scared?
Kela Lewis-Morin
YOU ARE READING
Rifts
ПоэзияWords from one mind to another. Words sealed behind ribbed cages of paper thin covers. Words dispersing this world's most clouded colours. Before the release of my debut collection, 'Writing My Wrongs', I decided to revise some of my older works. ...
