It's like she's right through the flowers
It's like I am brushed by her touch
It's like the rain of the hour
Is not so much.
It's like she's walking sound
As I crawl around,
It's like candles burning
Atop a winding mound.
It's like she can hear me
Walking, crawling, hitting the ground,
My feet pittering-pattering, giving off no sound.
Reaching out my hand,
Finding the dreams that lay behold,
She stepped right over me,
She destroyed my home.
Owen R Thornton
Blue Insights
YOU ARE READING
Blue Boat
Thơ caPoetry 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...
