There are too many names
Too many names
That no one will know
That no one will remember
I only fear of being forgotten
Because to me
That means there is no change
I have contributed to
And even to those
Where a poem is only a poem
When it rhymes
And can be predicted
The worlds that float about in my head
Remain real to me as words on a page
So it is my hope that I may share
My colors with others
So I plead
That the markings
Of the pencil in my palm
The creases in my hands
That my words may be held on to
By only the softest cloud
Who dare carry the sharpest object
And my rough edges
YOU ARE READING
All that Remains
PoetryThe girl of paper skin and diamond tears and a glass heart lives and loves and laughs, but what will happen when her skin is torn? Her heart shattered?
