Poems from Symaniblue
Sorrow knows no face,
takes no creed, knows no race...yet
still discriminates.
Somewhere creativity hides
in the depths of crumb ridden pockets
and old couch cushions.
Head aching from the plethora of nonsense
it...
She watched me with melting eyes,
veins like stems
on a dying meadow.
Life, slowling playing games
of freeze tage
and hide and go seek....
I'd imagine the scene of them taking me
as something comically hostile
the familiar sound of a body bag
mistake for the sound of a joggers...
I found heaven in the midst of my rib cage
my soul flew out like migreating crows
so suddenly afraid of home.
My foes didn't know what to...