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Cracking at the Seams
Like trying to breathe
Working slowly through
Almost falling part
A hallowed, hollow and empty mesh
It sits int he frame of a man
Trying to be what it cannot
What an imposter fills at a role
Just within that is enough to speak
No more to be said and things on the brand
It's lost and one must not let it go
Enough crying on the point
Like you were on a goal
Perhaps that it was the part
If anything it is the only thing
Like a ghost of the past it buries deep
Old spirits haunting the soul
Green ghosts surrounding the measure
Surrounded in a forest within a marsh
Buried to the thighs and strangled by the mush
The mud and the many things that don't seem to be enough
But no place for a pity party
Let it be enough and buried like a soul
There's nothing for it to be given or to find
What is it in the end that shall ever be
It is like a thing a wordless night
Stolen, saturated, burned, broken, and filled to light
It's too much in its slow grain, it is the thing to do
Never to go against in its part.
Terror that has been burning into your bones, what is it that you want to do..?
Nothing, face it with a burning passion as you are nothing butn falling apart at the seams.
And yet its not over.
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Cracking at the Seams
Like trying to breathe
Working slowly through
Almost falling part
A hallowed, hollow and empty mesh
It sits int he frame of a man
Trying to be what it cannot
What an imposter fills at a role
Just within that is enough to speak
No more to be said and things on the brand
It's lost and one must not let it go
Enough crying on the point
Like you were on a goal
Perhaps that it was the part
If anything it is the only thing
Like a ghost of the past it buries deep
Old spirits haunting the soul
Green ghosts surrounding the measure
Surrounded in a forest within a marsh
Buried to the thighs and strangled by the mush
The mud and the many things that don't seem to be enough
But no place for a pity party
Let it be enough and buried like a soul
There's nothing for it to be given or to find
What is it in the end that shall ever be
It is like a thing a wordless night
Stolen, saturated, burned, broken, and filled to light
It's too much in its slow grain, it is the thing to do
Never to go against in its part.
Terror that has been burning into your bones, what is it that you want to do..?
Nothing, face it with a burning passion as you are nothing butn falling apart at the seams.
And yet its not over.
A line of truth that has been given shape, the craft of poetry is scarce at times, or inconsistent and yet it is still the right way as it should be. Truth in a given shape, to be embraced even if it pulls one down.
This was a fun one to write, I feel that I really captured that which I was after.
This was a fun one to write, I feel that I really captured that which I was after.
Category Poetry / All
Species Unspecified / Any
Gender Any
Size 50 x 50px
File Size 1.2 kB
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