A closed heart
feeble and delicate as it's been
dispersing from dream to dream
to the remnants of the past
to the realities of the futureIt comes warm as sunlight
and anon, algid as dawn
It opens its cage
for a grasp on a whim
for a joy unforeseenOnly its will isn't feeble
its helm is the mind
it breaks others’
it breaks itself
Until it evanesce fast
in a single blow of the wind.
YOU ARE READING
Lacuna
Poetrylacuna - 𝑎 𝑏𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑘 𝑠𝑝𝑎𝑐𝑒, 𝑎 𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝐌𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐜 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐏𝐨𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥. 𝐈𝐟 𝐰𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐰𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡.