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The moring,
yellow ribbons of light,
tied tight to the window,
slow glass coloured winds,
breaking,
broken on the ledge.

Did i fall to be here now?
Are my bones in a nerveless pain,
fractured on nothing but standing,
stranded,
lost as shooting stars on a night spent under roof and sadness?

Speaking so slowly,
that even words can freeze.



Poetry by Will Hamilton
Read 635 times
Written on 2005-07-13 at 23:54

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chasingtheday The PoetBay support member heart!
looking out of that window again, a night time exercise, watching the world go by.
2005-07-14