deepundergroundpoetry.com
Little Slave to the Sky
That childhood ache of 'not allowed'
presses my face to the pane.
Branches sway and drops tumble
over heart scrawled misty breath.
No-one knocks on a rainy day
Clouds of gloom crowd the clock
as hour by hour hopes for play dwindle
Leaving only a wraith to idle wishes away.
presses my face to the pane.
Branches sway and drops tumble
over heart scrawled misty breath.
No-one knocks on a rainy day
Clouds of gloom crowd the clock
as hour by hour hopes for play dwindle
Leaving only a wraith to idle wishes away.
Published 23rd Jun 2010
| Edited 20th Oct 2014
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