Burning Bell
We always lay flowers on the grave
but rarely give them to the living
we hide our true hearts in fancy vases.
When we finally say I love you
a sundial whispers -it's too late.
You think you've mastered forever.
'til forever scratches at your graying door.
Dreams never fly without feathers of hope
Blowing away like Mojave Desert gold.
Limestone hearts worn away by indifference.
Everybody's taking -so very little giving.
Everybody's sitting in paper mache caves.
Of their very own making.
Talking to the saddened shadows of themselves.
Hearing only the echo of their desperation.
Sliding into the mouth of the burning bell.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
