Brush your fingertips across the living layer-
Underneath it pumps feelings out
Fast as a race car
Maybe faster
Place the bricks,
Plaster them with tears,
Create a deformed heart.
Brush of air tickles your sensation
The old branches snap and break
Show me saplings
I won't live to watch them wilt
The living tree.
YOU ARE READING
I'm Starting To Think...
Poetry...that everything can come together. It can tell us what we are. It can tell us what the meaning of everything is... If you just smile, You'll see the whole world. Now just smile. {Warning: Old. Bad. Old+Bad= Very bad.}
