Poetry, from the walls, and in time...

I haven't been on here in a while, and it feels a little awkward trying to get back in to it, like falling off a bike and swearing it off for a time. So, I thought I would ease back in with something I am more comfortable with, a poem.

"Bespoke and speak"
Our last communique
tempestuous and writhing with the agony
of a too short message.
For within that spanse
expectations hang nigh,
floating and weaving,
sputtering and spoiling;
Words losing sight of themselves,
drifting further and further into static.
Dialogue, dear precious conversation,
confined within that delicate prison.
Pick up.
My words would truer find your ears were
your ears listening.
Pick up.
This unholy ringing in my ears leaves my breath
Pick up and speak to me.


Popular posts from this blog

The Light of Amorth (working title)

Th' Opressor's Wrong

Parenting: An Idea