Nite,without lite,perch your gloom on my knees while I'm sitting down on a sofa floating, floating where?
Perhaps in the space?
Sensation that, among many others has given,musing, place to an alive deliberation of years, deliberation that I have used as a cover for you sensation.
Will it be compassion?
Inert, dark, hidden behind this cover!
I don't know how to call you! Sloth or hatred?
Madness or desperation?
Idleness or anxiety perhaps?
Or maybe desire (...)
My goodness, if are you sensation!
Hidden vilely behind my desire!
To the moon I shout my prayers tonight!
Meanwhile, I analyze a situation in that I don't know really if my thinking is the only.
If it is the only or simply is one among many others, of the heap, passenger.
My reflection has past to be filed,without a trace,to get lost perpetually in drag time.
Writting in a characteristic mode I analyze it again and wonder if I will ever think of a reflection of a face in the mirror, owner of my sorrows, passenger of my worse dreams,
It usually goes by my mind,but gosh! If am I?!?
YOU ARE READING
Words Of Wasp
PoetryFar between sundown's finish and midnight's broken toll. We ducked inside the doorways, thunder went crashing. As majestic bells of bolts struck shadows in the sounds. Seeming to be the chimes of freedom flashing.
