A voice of pure honey
Too bad you have that face
Busking in this alley
Seems an appropriate place
You are so skilled
Woodcarving is in your soul
Without that wheelchair
You could be free to go
....where words don't cut
You ruin everything
Can't keep a secret to save your life
You're a waste of breath
So sickly, you might as well die
Bitterness runs in your veins
Hate spews out of your mouth
Violence in movement
Stop breaking sound
....where melodies settle dust
Lazy, worthless, lay about
Go find something to do
Depression has no pill
The streets are calling you
No vision, no hope
You're a blob of wasted space
You screwed up my life
I had "a place"
....where matter makes tattoos
Little baby with sketches
As deep as a ravine
Don't allow those wounds
To have the power to mean
Liars are sprinkled
Along life's walking path
To prevent authenticity
From having the courage to take back
TRUTH
...where TRUTH restores soul
Written by Trudy Schrader on 02-24-2024
Categories:
woodcarving, hurt, words,
Form: Rhyme