When the burning tears stop,
And the land is dry of my dreams,
Where can you find Home,
In such desolation of being?
All of our deserts,
Were once vast ocean wells.
Regal birds on mountains top,
Fishing deep of perch and bream,
Waters far from loam,
Drinking deep empty things,
Thoughts long lost,
And memories crops,
Withered spots on brains.
Empty out the vaults,
Purge the fish from streams,
Poison me with history.
Carry me home on the back
Of my shadow.
Carry my shadow.
An empty thing that,
Looks like me, sapping all my
Memory, my energy,
My very entity.
Drunk on rivers past,
My shadows only as good,
As I used to be.
Sucking up my life
And living in pain,
A dark spot in the back of my brain.
I wish I was the river.
I wish I was never.
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...
