deepundergroundpoetry.com
He
The cockcrow spins
dreams drifting into reality
and the scratches still sting
Alone my thoughts my heart
beat to a sombre drum
and the imagination runs
Close again my eyes
halt the drowning sea
float over my swollen head
Words painted often call
the tree branch holds your name
whispers blown away
dreams drifting into reality
and the scratches still sting
Alone my thoughts my heart
beat to a sombre drum
and the imagination runs
Close again my eyes
halt the drowning sea
float over my swollen head
Words painted often call
the tree branch holds your name
whispers blown away
Published 6th Aug 2017
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Anonymous
- Edited 3rd Jun 2018 8:45pm
6th Aug 2017 5:04pm
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