|
| |
Floating Above Myself
Dissociated
Looking around
Can’t connect the dots to who or what I was before
My feet have been stained by a hundred strains of grass
Seen and known outside the reach of this valley
Years of travel has worn my soles
Worn my soul
Chipped away the pictures I painted of the world I wanted
A cold world with a bitter tongue
The broken helping the broken because the fixers have all gone home
Your story is but a paragraph in a book of shattered hearts
A novel of shattered dreams
Scattered on the streets in puddles of liquid screams
Lines of hungry bellies waiting to make it another day
I wish we could feed on our fear
Then we would all eat like kings
Our souls are etched on the walls of the buildings in which we dwell
A reminder to those that follow
Pain was nurtured here
Copyright ©
Tia Lane
|
|