I can't; I really can't,
To mend this torn, gray fabric,
With a hint of pinkish residue
Oh Heavens! I must subdue!
Should I get my needle and my thread?
To which this torn fabric that I need to mend?
Or should I just leave it as it is?
And let the two parts slowly diverge?
But the real question is— who am I?
Who am I to fix the fabric?
I'm just a regular human who's inept and can't perform stitches—
Now I remember; this is just my own tragic!
For I steadily try to puncture the cotton,
And slid through the ragged silk
With trembling hands, long I sit on my chair,
Wishing that I'll overcome such dare.
And I mend, sometimes pricked, till dusk awakes,
Whilst the sharp and keen end, I partake
With the hands of an inept clutching the torn fabric,
For it wants to prove its discrete magic.
From the torn fabric is my burden—
To which it turns to be the proof
Letting its composure forming,
And for that, I can hereby say—
"I've fixed the fabric whilst not summoning any bane."
YOU ARE READING
Ups and Downs: Short Poems ✔
PoetryBook 1 of the "Short Poems" series. This book contains all the poems that I wrote over the past years. (100 SHORT POEMS AVAILABLE) (BEST IN BLACK BACKGROUND) (COMPLETED) - - - Copyright © 2019 by Pawerr14 All Rights Reserved
