Hills

Running up hills,
breath burning,
it was always
blue skies then
but I still was
scared of the dark.

Legs long, legs short
one to a hundred
missing numbers out
you were first,
I was second
and the mysterious
was always fourth
or it never happened at all.

Hills are not as high
and breath now
comes not in
exaggerated pants
but more as a sigh
you are, I am
we lie.



Poetry by Elle The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 69 times
Written on 2024-03-10 at 15:05

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D G Moody
A poem to conjure attention; thereby lies its inner meaning. or so it strikes me. Just damn good poetry.
2024-03-10


alarian The PoetBay support member heart!
you were first
I was second
and the mysterious
was always fourth
or it never happened at all

I like that
the fourth is the third ex-aequo?
2024-03-10