Poems and Heartache

Eight

I feel things,

Not like the hair on your head,

Nor the grass on the ground,

I feel things from deep within.

Stirring beneath me,

Creating this bubbling sensation,

That bubbles it way up.

Creating movements of words,

Symphony's of apologies,

Or maybe just hello.

It gives you the strength to continue on,

It pushes you to pure exhaustion.

But.

You don't stop, you don't need to.

For the sky isn't just blue because it wants too.

It's because it worked from black coal to glistening blue.

It was beautiful.

It worked, it never gave up.

It felt things, that it could never describe.