You are a presence,
failed to notice.
You meant nothing.
My hands are withered,
The fruits of
You are no longer ignorable.
Leave a comment
Filed under creative writing, History, outlaw poetry, poetry
Tagged as aging, youth
Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:
You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. ( Log Out / Change )
You are commenting using your Twitter account. ( Log Out / Change )
You are commenting using your Facebook account. ( Log Out / Change )
You are commenting using your Google+ account. ( Log Out / Change )
Connecting to %s
Notify me of new comments via email.
Enter your email address to subscribe to this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.
Join 1,111 other followers