Beating in formation.
No soul out of sync. They dance
high and free, a victim's intervention.
Both stand, all stand. Nameless
as they sway in one, part of something.
Something indescribable.
Undeniably they attempt to decipher.
Pinpoint, in fine detail
where the romance became criminal.
Still, the people dance,
holding a hand and a heart, respectively,
neither their own.
There's beauty in a crime running so deep.
Look close to notice,
the vast skies in their eyes as they glance
down at their hands.
Intertwined- oh look, they fit so effortlessly.
YOU ARE READING
Typing on a Table-top - The Poem Archive
RandomPoetry! Very random, very cringy poetry that I throw together for vents and all sorts! Honestly this is more of a personal improvement device but o h w e l l they're poems, how exciting can it be?
