Messenging
Potential
One word, three easy syllables
A world of weighted, dragging pulls
Sitting on my shoulder and shaking its head
Consequences
The harsh grip of a cheese grater
Cutting healing wounds ever raw
As I clutch the paltry glittering prize.
Cages of the imperfect
Potential hanging ominously above
Consequences hemming in on all sides
So much room to stand,
and none to rest.
5 comments:
You wrote that very fast...
Yeh. I have the speed just not the patience.
And it doesn't make it good..
Hmm....
I rote a few poetries at camp.
Must remember to post em. Truth
It is good, you know that. And so do I.
tehe yea abi is soo true it a gud poem!
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