He sat in the corner
In his cage he wept
The cruel rusted barsKept all tears with none swept
Misery it was
Cruelty it felt
Though he couldn't ever die
He was stuck within thout ever help
The purges of pain
Surged through his frail body
It tossed him down to bruised metal floor
Where the blood had lay before
Pools of moist goo
Lay upon the floor
It stained through
Making tinted floor
That never could stop
The pains always sore
His feelings stored
His thoughts in cloud
His eyes patched
And his words without sound
The man in the corner
He lay in the cage
Never help came
Because he was his own pain
2–28–18
YOU ARE READING
Blue Boat
PoetryPoetry has no limits. I was going to introduce myself formally, but there is no need. This is emotion. Whether it is formal, informal, or not, it is a large group of feelings, where anyone can feel anything. Read it - feel it - enjoy it. I named thi...
