They tell me, "follow,"
their eyes a beach of red, I
hurry, but they drown.
They tell me, "swing high,"
their lips a charcoal black, I
press on, but they fall.
They tell me, "let go,"
their faces blue with fear, I
hold on, so they cry.
They tell me, "move on,"
their voices void hardened, I
stay still, so they leave.
-GS
YOU ARE READING
Once Upon a Rhyme
PoetryThis is not a poem, it's a cry for help This is not a poem if it can't be felt This is not a poem for you to tell This is my poem. This is my hell. This will be the end of me This is the sway of the willow tree This was the way that you looked at me...
