deepundergroundpoetry.com
Libra
A wooden spoke in a wheel of gold.
A broken bone in a body fitly jointed.
A beautiful white blanket dawning a deep blue ink stain.
I stand on the outside of the tank, fear gripping my heart that I might disturb the waters in which there is life.
I take my stance in the middle so as to not tip the scales either way, id rather hurt than to see someone else hurt.
This balancing act, is in fact no act, it's life or death to me.
A broken bone in a body fitly jointed.
A beautiful white blanket dawning a deep blue ink stain.
I stand on the outside of the tank, fear gripping my heart that I might disturb the waters in which there is life.
I take my stance in the middle so as to not tip the scales either way, id rather hurt than to see someone else hurt.
This balancing act, is in fact no act, it's life or death to me.
Published Yesterday
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