By: Andrew La Luz
It’s
Hard to believe how a heart on a sleeve,
turns to chip on the shoulder when it’s hardened and teased.
How it, hardly receives the spark that it needs,
but stays charged with a current through which artistry bleeds.
The leaking ink sinking in margins like seeds,
to feed rhythmic roses or starve them like weeds.
I’m a sap that’s attached to the bark as it bleeds,
and craves the same rain distant gardens receive.
I pine for you, but, I wilt in my sleep,
with head hanging heavy like willows that weep.
The frustration mounting, start killing those sheep,
that lived for my counting, miss Little Bo Peep.
Dreams rooted deep that torture as they repeat,
Stemming from fertile fears that’ll flourish in desert heat.
Warned of horrid thorns on stems where venom leaks,
Lured by the petals, weak in my effort to retreat.
She loves me, she loves me not,
the petals will fall,
She loves me, she loves me not,
Thorned stem in my palm.
{ 2 comments… read them below or add one }
AMAZING!! That is so Beautiful, I said it before and I will say it again, you can write like nobody else. Should write a book. Congradulations! Love and much support your mom.
AMAZING! What a beautiful poem, So Proud of you. should really consider writing a book, I know it would be a top seller you can write like no other. Love Mom