Cracked blisters.
Broken limbs.
Filthy nails.
Ragged elbows.
Shush shush.
They all murmur silver showers;
listen.
Battered books,
too heavy for their rags.
Tattered clothes,
too bright for their skin.
Melting grains,
too sweet for their guts.
But listen.
Green fingers knitting your gait,
their knee caps filling your cups.
Piss drenched hair locks sweeping castles,
frozen veins anchoring your smiles.
Such sweet songs,
so we play them over and again.
Faint but growls.
Silent but screams.
Dead but sighs.
Loud but mutters.
Petrified to touch?
Just listen.
YOU ARE READING
Paper Mill Songs
PoetryA collection filled with hasty scribblings but hearty attempts. I will be uploading a new poem to this collection every second day. The work deals with subject material such as hunger, child labor, war, death, utopia, and sometimes love (Basically a...
