And i turned to dust.
I don't have the strength to be a man tonight,
So i'll just lie here
Piled high;
Lacking courage to even take a breath.
Distressed and broken,
My soul is like a tattered sweater;
These words pulled my frayed ends
To pieces.
Truth cuts past the bone and marrow
To a place in my heart I didn't even know
Existed.
A place of frayed and tattered dust.
Truth cuts past the bone and marrow
To a place in my heart I didn't even know
Existed.
A place of frayed and tattered dust.
oy, sounds a rather desolate place...i hope that the rains come soon enough in that heart...smiles.
ReplyDeleteLooks to need some sprinkles of fresh perspectives, sounds a rather dismal place. Dried and desolate.
ReplyDeleteA sad place to be... this too shall pass.
ReplyDeleteI know that tattered sweater...
ReplyDeletelove your comparison of the soul
ReplyDeleteLets pray for rain....love your imagery in this one....beautifully written! :-)
ReplyDeleteSuch deep pain you describe here. I do hope it's only poetry and not real. Very nicely written!
ReplyDeleteMy offering for this prompt: http://charleslmashburn.wordpress.com/2011/09/09/he-was-a-ford-man-2/
Sorrowful well written piece
ReplyDeleteAnna :o]