In the serenity of quiet streets
I am wasted and deserted
Of agonizing pain, the echoes
Torment my very existence
And you have no time
To hear anything but nothing!
The cracks on my facade deepen
I am flinged and shattered
Within me dying, the mortality
Momentum of my sail debilitated
And you have no time
To feel anything but nothing!
Beneath the crooked surface
I am empty and useless
Aching of the grievance, the sobs
In silence have a sharp noise
But you sad world have no time
To stop for anything but nothing!
C.
YOU ARE READING
Unpublished Poems
PoetryI had worked on my poem one whole summer, perfecting the story and structure and rhyme and rythym. And when he read it he asked, 'Why don't you write about what you feel when you can write very well? I mean all that goes on in your head, that rage i...
