The strings went
Into different directions
Like scrambled thread.
They have branches
that grow dark
to form black foliage.
Under their shade
I sit; sometimes
I swim over the
Shedded tears.
But, I stand.
How shallow they are
to be my swimming pool.
YOU ARE READING
The Breathing Poems
PoetryWhen I cannot speak, I cannot be mad, when I cannot share the happiness, all I have to do is to write the breathing poems.
