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Erin Nash. Click the Next or Previous links below the poem to navigate between poems. Remember, Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth. Thank you.
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As my voice tip toes aboard the broken branches to your heart,
You carry on sleeping in my soul.
A burden embedded in my wicked organs
Amidst the burning coal.
A sweet caution on my swollen mind
As black flickers of your hands rush past my eyes
In a cold October of rain and lies
Of scarlet cheeks and plastic spiders
I lay in a web of haunt
and as she cackles on the street
the world would suddenly flaunt
as we run on the road to nowhere
and take our countless steps
hold my hand and look at me
as the wicked shall finally see.