Wind blows
And birds cry
Upon the breeze of time
Driftwood
And dead pines
And the decay of the words in my mind
I remember
Harsh sounds
Dripping from your lips
Crimson and gold
Tough and cold
And how they lashed at my skin
Leaving behind scars
I did nothing to defend myself
Because I couldn't believe the action you played
This wasn't you
This isn't the person I know so well
This is a monster
A phase of emotion
A drifting of being
A passing storm over a field of growing barley
But the storm stayed
And I drowned in the rainfall
Thinking
That I could be strong for once
And swim
YOU ARE READING
Poetry Book 4
Poetryhello again! another poetry book - number four, to be exact. if you've been here a while, you know the drill: there's no order to this thing, and after 100 poems or writing pieces, there's gonna be a new book. about the cover: it was a Thursday at S...
