I sit atop a wooden chair
To put a rest to sailboat fare
A quiet, gentle breeze does sweep
Across the splendid, arid deep
Words take flight as if a sparrow
With volume bursts as swift as arrows
A simple stance and ears abroad
I listen in secluded pod
And though I see the tides will shift
I walk on through the trailing rift
To meet a different self again
I cast the die and make a friend
YOU ARE READING
sometimes
PoetryA collection of mentally ill poems about the world, written by a mentally ill person. Perfect if you're into abstract or freeform poetry. New updates come at random times, but expect slightly consistent updates at least once a week or so! Top 10 in...
