a frustrated place in time that happens over and over again
I find in many different places in
many different times
How much does it hassles me
how much does it teases me
it tears me in side out
it shreds me into pieces.
It rips my clothes,
only lo leave the naked of my vulnerability,
I am behind a glass wall
and all my organs in display.
Everyone sees the canal of my nutrients,
Everyone sees the closed canal.
The wanting of water with in my canal.
The wanting of the river with the many waters.
The wanting of that same water to feed my thirst.
There is more than the thirst.
There is more than the dehydration I display.
I am starting to live in mirages.
They scope, and illustrate my passion in the distance.
I am starting to live in visions.
I do not scream for my stolen innocence.
I have stained my hands with the blood of my mistakes.
Hoping to be taken in with all my bags and luggage.
Hoping to find a home in a heart that beats close to mine.
There is a bed for me to sleep in.
There is a place for me.......
The smell of my sins are old
the birth of my innocence is new.
I will be taken in as I am.
I could only be the same as my finger prints.
Poetry by grey
Read 369 times
Written on 2008-03-10 at 01:22
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canals
The shadow of the memory of youI find in many different places in
many different times
How much does it hassles me
how much does it teases me
it tears me in side out
it shreds me into pieces.
It rips my clothes,
only lo leave the naked of my vulnerability,
I am behind a glass wall
and all my organs in display.
Everyone sees the canal of my nutrients,
Everyone sees the closed canal.
The wanting of water with in my canal.
The wanting of the river with the many waters.
The wanting of that same water to feed my thirst.
There is more than the thirst.
There is more than the dehydration I display.
I am starting to live in mirages.
They scope, and illustrate my passion in the distance.
I am starting to live in visions.
I do not scream for my stolen innocence.
I have stained my hands with the blood of my mistakes.
Hoping to be taken in with all my bags and luggage.
Hoping to find a home in a heart that beats close to mine.
There is a bed for me to sleep in.
There is a place for me.......
The smell of my sins are old
the birth of my innocence is new.
I will be taken in as I am.
I could only be the same as my finger prints.
Poetry by grey
Read 369 times
Written on 2008-03-10 at 01:22
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
