God pities those who moan because of
what might have been, our childhood pain
deeply buried in our human torso, while our
lonely hearts crawl in and out, where sweet
hope and hunger lies, our ears deaf, our mouths
dumb, our fingers are weary and worn from scratching
at the walls between us and everyone else,
our eyelids heavy and torn, we sit like hermit crabs,
our hearts beating too slow to feed our brains joy,
we can't help shunning the self-content, with
hell's embers raining down on us, guilting us into
feeling tracings of desire only at slumber time.
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What a gift you have.
Maggie
~a fellow human & poet, Zach
God Bless You!
John Michal Domino
Maybe you are the poet that's next cave to mine.
Georg
Blessings! Jasmin Horst
at the walls between us and everyone else"
It sure seems like that, doesn't it?