on all that used to be
I didn't loose any pieces
on what was left for me
tossing and turning; feigning sleep
but mostly, it won't come
it's not that I am out of touch
but that I know too much
placid pictures, black and white
hanging on a wall
fading in the sunlight
now wading into fall
redemption rests on fluffy clouds
before the monsoon comes
and thunder sounds so loudly
inside a mind left numb
Poetry by M.J.B. is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License
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