Cradled in a nest of thorns Swaddled in your apathy My cries go silent Like a still-born dream Illuminated by nothing more Than the drip
Category: Poetry & Prose
On Writing (Yet Another)
Inspiration strikes like a match In an afternoon monsoon microburst Of clichés, tired and trite The obligatory opening and closing Threadbare and uninspired A triple-dose
A Little Longer
I’m still here I walk these halls A thousand times Waiting For a glimpse of you I watch Feel you dream of me Through restless
Adrift
I felt it likely In this solitude My thoughts would Find their way Back to you Eventually Drifting on A lucid current Around and past
Nothing Left
There comes a time, I think When perhaps, nothing is left No more pieces to reshape No more ashes to sift through No more walls
Some Days
There are days When this world proves Too much for me I was stopped At a crosswalk To let a woman and her children cross
