Pained at every slight
Pleading at every stop
Like the ink of the old type
Fading with every pop.
Sorrow for adding grief.
Agonizingly finding relief.
You say this, she said that
Nothing metaphorically is flat.
So fine, I will just go.
Nothing breaks even, don't you know?
YOU ARE READING
The Quiet Song
PoetryDedicated to some who remind me to smile. :) This is a now completed book on friendship (which I hope is never terminated.) Please enjoy.:) Again, a perfect artpiece by @LukeHochrein....
