As I Slowly Crawl
Across the floor
breathing the dust
from my shoes,
choking,
gagging on past tracks
of so many others.
It's so cold
down here,
where no one can look up
to you,
or would,
even if they could.
That light,
there,
under the door,
looks so inviting.
Is it my salvation?
Or only hell's crimson glow.
Copyright © 2014 Robert William Gruhn - All Rights Reserved
"A poem to me is the essence of any thought,
Being built from its foundation into tower scraping sky.
It can fly like no other bird to places never seen,
Even spaceships can only dream of taking its place."
© 2014 Robert William Gruhn
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