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My Ryeglass
By Strataic
It's--
A ryeglass with-
Bi-frost lenses,
Yet sight rusts
The memories.
We shiver as
Only-a-fragment
Is heard in colour.
And to peek-
Shelters
Time-travel.
This gestation of
-Mono carbonic
Feelings--
'Irrational'
When all we have is,
Waiting-
I dry wash my heart
In stained glass teeth.
To
Feel-
Less.
Unauthorized Copying Is Prohibited.
Ask the author first.
Copyright 2014 Cipher
Published on Saturday, February 8, 2014.
Filed under:
"Poetry"
Comments on "My Ryeglass"
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On Saturday, February 8, 2014, BloodyMercy
(64)
wrote:
Very simple work that forced me to analyze the depth of your word choice. It left me with a sense of anguish or despair. Very well done.
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