I have uttered the wittiest words that
someone could ever be heard,
indeed, rest is what they found in me
Would it be too much, if I ask
to be kept folded like a sheet
instead of being trash?
Life has taught me silly things
if I am loved with perfection
these corners wouldn't be crumpled
in just a mere three seconds.
It's getting hot in here
though I crawl for freedom,
fire is consuming my soul
My body is starting to vanish
like soft ashes, blown by the wind
flying here to for, no direction at all
Would it be too much if I ask
to be kept folded in your pockets
'Til I offer you again, a little bit of rest?
Thought water gives life
that after the rain, a rainbow arises
yet I couldn't see hope
this damp surface is getting grayish
I've melted alone and scattered
instead of a flower's fragrance
Smoke is all I can smell
Would this be too much?
YOU ARE READING
sometimes drowning above the ocean | poetry on pages
Puisisome stanzas are made to breathe rhyming words, but almost every poem drowns a silent world.
