poem in progress
In this field where nobody can see us.
Everything is
Quiet
and even whispers seem loud out here.
a horrible, long, crawl back to the place i was born will leave me alone and broken
too broken to be fixed...
nobody should be used to this
nobody should see such a broken being, all bloody and hopeless
with the hope of death the only reason to open their eyes in the morning.
Everything
Gone
and Everything
Going.
Even those close to us are really far away
even if they're only an arm's length away
they are not there.
The leaves rustle in the tress and fall as the wind blows them, carrying them far over the barren field.
even whispers sound loud out here.
theres one of my newest poems in progress that I'm turning into a song.
tell me what you think
and yes, i realize it doesn't rhyme, its not supposed to.