In his dreams, I was him
I sniffed his real life in my sleep
They dropped like threads of dew
And his stories wrote themselves,
Like the stars reveals themselves, at night
His lips couldn't pave way for words
And his heart boils of the curse
He had an in-retreating love for art
He carved stories of his father and his beer
He portrayed his hungry anger
On his sleeves, were pains roaming through his blood fluid
Art was glowing in his eyes
He is poetry in his heart
And he flourished like a sunflower neath a full moon
YOU ARE READING
MADE ABOUT
PoetryWhat are you Made About? This piece is made about black, Made about life, Made about love, Made about lost, Made about lust, Made about hopes, Made about poetry. Online published poetry.
