I went into my past
machete in hand
to gather pieces of old lovers,
a perfect creation
I hoped to stitch together with fear,
but something wasn’t right…
I
couldn’t
breathe
life
into my creation,
and
beauty
passed as I stood
waiting…
I went into my past
machete in hand
to gather pieces of old lovers,
a perfect creation
I hoped to stitch together with fear,
but something wasn’t right…
I
couldn’t
breathe
life
into my creation,
and
beauty
passed as I stood
waiting…
Incredibly sad 🙁 you have such a gift Ryan don’t stop writing….
Yeah, this is one of my more sad poems. Yesterday I was reading Gibran saying in one of his poems that we must feel our sorrow fully to fully feel our joy. This poem reminds me of that.