In search for the pills
To bring a remedy,
The only medication
To awaken the part so weak
That decided to stop,
To feel numb to the bone
With no needle or thread
To render sewn
The nerve endings detached
From caring and motion,
Leaving just a cess of noise
And meaningless devotion.
Now, there isn't enough time
To prescribe a remedy,
Not enough energy
To revive extremities
In the good, proper fashion;
So, we must make due
With foreign fabrics we have
And the guesses we try to brew.
YOU ARE READING
Unsent Letters
PoesíaUnsent Letters. We all have them. They're that one thing that we keep from the world, That one side of us that we never let anyone see, Those few words that we wish we could say These are a collection of poems, written to be letters Just a few more...
