Hands pushing, shoving.
Voices saying "Out damned spot out."
They do not see the tears,
They are invisible.
They do not hear the screaming,
It's silent.
They don't see the chaos,
I'm calm and composed.
And yet still hands are pushing.
I'll make them see me,
I'll make them hear.
They will feel the tears.
The Cement is calling to me.
It's come to this,
A weightless Step.
The Candlelight vigil they will hold,
As though they wanted my light.
But I'm out, out like a brief candle.
YOU ARE READING
Color Me Gray
PoesiaIt's about my life in a way. A lot of my poetry stems from things I go though. And Unfortunately I only update when something makes me generally upset or overjoyed. I'm happy with whatever feed back.
