He sits there sleeping,
On a coach seat, on the train.
His hair like fire,
Shows his desire.
A figure well built,
Of muscular tone.
His physical attraction goes down to the bone.
He stays so still
Like he looked at Medusa
He's turned to stone.
Is that who I am?
Am I that disgusting?
I turn people to stone,
I'm hideous to the bone.
YOU ARE READING
Shards of the Soul
PoesíaHere are a collection of poems that I have written over the years. The poems grow as do the collection of experiences grow. Once I feel that they are completed I will upload them on here. Please leave comments and share with your friends, I would a...
