Free verse № 104915
The Gray Idea
Crawling-
forever slowly
toward the womb,
thickets of torper block our path,
so we drudge through the thorns-
to perception.
Struggling-
blindly-
with Fate and Time,
often strangled by hands of chance(and clocks)
all the while kicking
against together.
Breathing-
faint thin air
of substance,
a stillness reveals the feeble wheezing of removal,
and between our breath and the Hope of real-
lies the gray idea
of a phantom.
11 comments
and if anything it adds more perfume to when I
state your work as being a crackling homerun of shit
Besides my "work" took all of five minutes,so I doubt it's work
compared to your sad ramblings of longed for anal penetration!
'Struggling...strangled by hands of chance(and clocks)'
You're so insightful, you know, you really have your thumb on the pulse of life.
I especially like the way you capitalized Fate and Time, really drives the message home.
Welcome to poemranker! :)
oh you wish big boy, you wish
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