There is something stony
About the sun kissed sky…
It rains and shines, and
Withers down to bloom again..
I could never ask why?
I am the yellowed remains
Of every wound…
The ones hiding under
Every brown scar..
Fuming to exhume, yet
Scared of a prick.
I have a face,
And a full set of teeth,
Four limbs installed,
And still I crawl.
[knock knock knock!
Good morning Madam,
We have been called
To build you a metal hall].
No comments:
Post a Comment