harvest time
face at a light
bouncing off silver
three, five, nine, ten
down a stream
down she goes
but i still can't see clear.
/
face at a light
eyes locked with myself
there's something
i swear i saw it
it still breathes.
i'm wasting time
staring. right.
YOU ARE READING
cacophony
Poetrya trail of poetry drawn between inward glances because i gave up on shouting myself down. | voice one: 01-13 | voice two: 16-29 | voice three: 30-36 | voice four: 37-42 | p.s. the first few poems are really bad. ~ hymn ©2020
