(no subject)
from across the hall your skinny arms are waving
and when i fall i go down hard but struggling
still, the muted sound of trumpet finds me in the dark
when the wind blows hard as it comes off the ocean
or the sun beats down on shoulders of the broken
will we realize the wonder of staring into space?
hollowly we drown in cracking leaves of brown
till shaking free again we sit down with our pens and
bleed ink
bleed ink
i picked a petal out my sleeve this morning
in my hand it fell to pieces without warning
if the spring has come then why do the flowers wither still?
tomorrow we'll be found in cracking leaves of brown
till breaking free of pens we find ourselves again and
bleed ink
bleed ink