Gunmetal grey skies
cold dead time... barely flies
It creeps instead
it leaves, head perturbed
cautiously passing, a step at a time
tiptoeing, to not disturb
it walks away
Cold drizzle pours down the hands of the clock
time feels the weight of every drop
waits at every stop
on slow motion crawl
draws a sigh deep inside
raises tensions mountain high
before tiptoeing away
out of your life
Crisscross timelines
like rivers that span lands
you can't touch it or feel it in your hands
but you can see it traced in the lines of your face
the tears that once raced over bags,
dark circles embraced
now barely trickling as the well has run dry
Time...
can make you cry
as it tiptoes away
never once stopping to say goodbye
Thanks For Reading,
Peace, Love and Poetry.
Kyle
No comments:
Post a Comment