As I write you this last letter
Underneath our cloudy weather
A tear as soft as feathers
I don't feel that much better
In our modern age of typing
Not as effective as a sighting
Our fingers move as much as swiping
While our bodies are slowly dying
I cannot mold words into feelings
Like a fish on a line that's reeling
My typed words only reach the ceiling
While my message is left on seen
I much prefer one that's handwritten
On it you can see I'm clearly smitten
By the thought that you think all is forgiven
To the mad house is where I should be driven
So accept this letter as you see fit
After this I will surely quit
You may show this to your friends for shits
Or you may reply when the moon is lit
YOU ARE READING
Beautiful Enough To Frame
PoetryTwo years in the making. Two years of my life put into words. There is nothing more left to say.
