The thoughts that prick
Behind the eyes,
The hand that reaches
Up to dry
The tears.
The sparkle holding it all
Inside,
The glisten as she says
She tried,
But then, the tears.
The sobs escape
The back of her throat,
A drop falls down
And all she knows
Is tears.
The glittering blue
Eyes,
Wet like the tears they
Cry.
The tears.
YOU ARE READING
Organized Chaos - These are My Thoughts
PoesíaNo, These are not poems. So flimsy a thing as can be called a few words on a page. These are thoughts. Paper thoughts, broken and scattered and gone like the wind. Iron anvil thoughts, never leaving though it is all I can ever ask of them. Invisible...
