I've blackened bridges,
And burned my hands.
I'd tell you why,
But I doubt you'd understand.
A tisket a tasket, I've shown you all my
feelings in their broken basket.
So now where do we stand?
To the starry tree'd girl from the awfully
hollow, awfully nonexistent, awfully awful man
did sing.
Which begs the question,
If sung by the empty,
Was it ever really sang?
I've walked backwards in the rain,
And kept my shoes bone dry.
I'd tell you how,
But I doubt you could take the pain.
Red rover red rover, you knew this was over
the moment we breathed.
Now how do we stand?
To the starry tree'd girl from the awfully
empty, awfully nonactual , awfully awful man
did sing.
Which begs the question,
If sung by the if only,
Was it ever really sang?
I come with hammers,
nails and rotten stone,
I come with a patch knife and wax
and I work alone.
The heart can't handle the
hammer handle of how to atone.
I've dried flowers,
And cut down the starry trees.
I'd tell you why,
But you wouldn't believe me.
Ring around the rosey, I've shown you all of
what I see.
Now why do I kneel?
To the starry tree'd girl with the spinning balls ablaze,
and the bright flux ring round her
body.
The knee'd begs the question,
If asked by the tramp,
Can it be forgiven?
I come black handed burning sagewood,
thinking if only the starry tree could,
maybe then I would feel good,
and find use for bridges again.
YOU ARE READING
Blank Spaces
PoetryAn emotive journey through the empty places we visit but never want to see. The pain, the heartbreak, trying to see hope in places there may be none. And the secrets, and yes there are always secrets. Can you see them in this dark empty space? So it...
