The sleepy homeless slip the northern city shafts
And faintly squirm the whites inside the dirty duvets
Hovering dwellers trying to forget these foul offsets
Naught must disgust the dying buds, the eating crafts
From open outlets steam out humid smells and spices
No frost will breeze from hills above, from enclosed spaces
The lukewarm winter lingers in between the stretching hedges
A shapeless earthwool flourishes atop the over-flowing edges
The spinning earth threads out the twisted branches
Stitching the ray of roads, the caterpillar lances
Hush lil’ birds, these cotton balls, the still born flowers
Ornate the open lawns, last year’s moss and mold, damp hours
YOU ARE READING
Behind You ( FINALIZATĂ )
PoetryHating myself I just look for a reason, To escape from my mind prison, But I found nothing... just hate, And my heart is locked with a gate. I have no stories to tell, Just worries waiting for hell, My hope is falling down, And I look like a funny c...
