She's like an hourglass - so stable one day,
But as soon as the sky turns grey,
All's flipped over and false becomes white
- and a whole sunset might be in sight.
And though she's admirable in many things,
That shouldn't give her freedom-granting wings
To do as she pleases regardless of the trouble
It creates for others - with her aid, it might double.
She said she's unable to grow old with grace
- yet for that reason, she insists on a race
Against the clock with every young one
- either you listen to my cries, or we're gone.
On thin ice with everyone, yet misunderstood,
Her heart's on her sleeve under a hood.
She's hard to abandon, harder to please,
For every word seems to make yet-unpaid fees.
YOU ARE READING
A phone book
PoetryA loose continuation of A Few Hysterical Words, this time focused on character descriptions.