Sunday, March 7, 2010

stained porcelain... (it felt like a poetic day)

tears of glitter fall
slowly, softly, swiftly
lines of black are laid, atop the porcelain 
door slams- broken hearts
stomping feet- broken dreams
lines of black run harder, atop the porcelain
silhouettes of grey not black
become but not a blur
only our kind god will know
that speech I chose to slur

missed connections 
fair skin smooth
ever changing-fast
only sleeping beauty sees
our future and our past
tears of desperation call
hard, cold, bitter

lines of black turn frozen, it’s the dead of winter.

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