He had the
eyes of a forlorn
stranger weary
from a journey so long
all that had him
continue is
the hope for a shelter
some place to take
refuge on after
who-knows-what
he's been seeking
You, the unsuspecting
victim, opened the doors
at once, not knowing
how he's just a tired guest
pressed on his impossibly
unceasing search
And that's just exactly what you are
YOU ARE READING
Albeit flawed,
PoetryI was basking under the sun-the waves muffle the sound of my breathing; and I bury myself with cautionary confidence in the sand and with it the memory of your four faces. How can something lethal be life-restorative?
