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Word to the Weak
By Circe Avalon
In the discomfort of the sun
I sulk and wish to run
This tattered mess I wear
Lays my soul to bear
Tiny hearts and tiny minds
Reminds me of the times
A sloven mess
A bitter jest
Can only watch the hourglass dance
My luck has burnt her course
Through these withered veins
Nothing stings me worse
Then the ravaged muddy verse
Mello coma of disregard
A yellow singeing fate
Now that me waltz has been heard
It all feels too little too late
Unauthorized Copying Is Prohibited.
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© 2008 Circe Avalon
Published on Friday, October 31, 2008.
Filed under:
"Poetry"
Comments on "Word to the Weak"
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On Thursday, March 28, 2019, Jonas Robinson
(867)
wrote:
I enjoyed this. I like to read the Dictionary too. :)
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