Nothing to Embrace
A tin can that rattles of air
A limp sting with no kite
A battle with no one
The war is over
They’ve all gone home.
I’d wring my hands
Of this blank space in time
But how, and where
Would I hang my head?
I’d wring my hands
Of this blank space in time
But how, and where
Would I hang my head?
No comments:
Post a Comment
I love hearing your comments.