Monday, July 29, 2019

Future Glass

** This poem is, in my humble opinion, not very good **

I feel I'm wading through a desert
At the bottom of a glass
While the future rains without reprieve
To bury me in our past

I struggle to find purchase on
A slope that just keeps rising
A mountain range of distance
To set between our two horizons

I hold on tight but all I grasp
Keeps slipping through my fingers
So I seek to pin it down with words
But summon only ghosts and whispers

As I fumble lines my throat recalls
Sand has this certain way
Of stilling tongues and stealing things
I'd never meant to say

Because I'm worried how you'll take it
If I land close to what I mean
As the streaming granules slow
I worry how you'll take it when you leave

No comments:

Post a Comment