Let it flow
Who cares
What they see?
I’m only waiting
For something to strike me beautiful.
The broken army of letters
And their shapes
Forming battalions, forming words.
Caked in light,
Their skin a different shade,
The one reflected from the walls,
They lean in and cheerfully exist
Wrapped up in their window world,
In their transparent cellophane squares.
People often speak
Of their pasts as stories,
Something they can’t relive
Maybe it even feels like fiction
But this moment this poem
Could never feel like anything less
Than real.
No comments:
Post a Comment