Doubtfully, the man in front of me,
Gave me a smile,
Giving me an assuring pulp of zeal,
His eyes were trials.
The trials burned behind
His gentle eyes;
A war, it will remind,
Of sulfuric skies.
The eyes became wet
Like the ground after first
Drop of rain sets,
After a while, like a storm, it burst.
He stared at himself,
His body, his face,
His smile melts
Like rocks to magma.
Doubtfully, he punched himself,
In front of me, the glass shattered,
And ugly man cried for help,
As his fist splattered.
I recognised the fluid,
And saw myself in the pieces
Of glass that were ruined,
As my blood dropped to the remnants like kisses.
Doubtfully, his tears cascaded;
Doubtfully, everyday, his smile melted;
Doubtfully, I knew the man;
Doubtfully, I was where he stands.
YOU ARE READING
Petals & Dust
PoesiaP E T A L S flaking away from my soul, waking me up to the truth. Soiling the ground beneath it; carcasses fragile and hollow. D U S T blown away by the winds, feathering out of sight; the crust, silently creeping away, crowning the sadness I utte...
