Shimmering reflections of a day that could be,
Reach falls short,
Calluses hold no grip or traction,
Filled with roads, hollow and arid;
Reach falls short again,
Pale colored steps race to the pinnacle,
Flesh on flesh, lay but still,
Empty trails, scorched lands hold no fruit.
I really don't get it. It's like you're talking about many different things.
ReplyDeleteThis is a very odd poem im not sure what you are writing about, i cant even imagine. You should work on it.
ReplyDelete