Your hands are hands of a soldier.
A soldier who has waged war,
Waded through death,
And became the life of others less brave.
Flourishing,
Your heart used to beat.
So lively and crazed,
Now dull and tame,
To mimic a blues drum beat.
Caressing,
My arm with every teardrop.
I sing myself to sleep.
And risk the possibility of eternal loneliness...
Just to see your empty heaven.
No comments:
Post a Comment