This, here

September 1, 2011
By Anonymous

A slip, a fall: a loss of grace
A moment in time like a second in space.
Circles not drawn and lines we can't fill
Loosing our heads and dreading high hills
And a rhythm, it finds her, makes like poison's hold
She tells me she's hungry and I watch as she molds
The music she dances and the way that she laughs
I'm watching and hoping she'll never come back
And there's wind to the left and dirt to the right
'You'd never?' I'd never
Love bark and hate bite.
With so many reasons they take away rhymes
We're holding our veins still and waiting for time.


Similar Articles

JOIN THE DISCUSSION

This article has 0 comments.





MacMillan Books

Aspiring Writer? Take Our Online Course!