My thoughts like a hundred moths,
Trapped in a lampshade
Sworn to secrecy,
Sworn to remain,
As poems on a page
Devoid of feeling,
No anger, no pain.
Preserved in ink,
Preserved in lead,
Never to be seen,
Never to be read,
Nonetheless, remain
That blotch on the page
That speaks of regret,
With bytes of shame.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment