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Our smiles are translucent enough
to admit the dull, faded light
of bits of socializing happiness
and tired admiration softly on our faces,
but the heart in each
has a black ink sword flowing the river styx,
wedged into the arteries,
searching for both the
golden ,magnificent, humbly carved door
and also the forbidden door of
chaos and despair,
we go throughout our lives living out
each day with a dull face towards tomorrow,
and legs and hands
and minds and mouths
performing deeds of what we're told to do and say,
how to act and how to play
the parts of those living
day by day,
who will always be uncertain
of whether choosing to leave
or to stay.
YOU ARE READING
Silver Dance of Poetry
PoetryHere lies a genre of emotions a sad, twisted emphasis on time something about finding people (yourself) and letting your soul fly free. I hope every word lingers in your mind.
