Seeing windows welded into walls,
He cursed his heavy wet silhouette,
Angry violent fists curled into a ball,
A ball he found himself, an empty duet
Anxiety and I.
Adrift,
He floats on an ocean of sky,
More aimless than a neglected balloon,
Less purposeful than wings.
Up, he goes, he swoons,
Chasing ideals on space bound,
All when his feet is nailed to the ground.
YOU ARE READING
Ode
PoetryHere's an ode to the night he/she left; here's an ode to the anxiety you feel on a sunny morning and everything was supposed to be fine; here's an ode to the feelings left unexpressed; here's an ode to the words left unsaid, or perhaps what can...
