Ill At Ease
Words germinated from
Seemingly nowhere
Set my insides ill-at-ease
Bile from the
Darkest places
The bitterest pieces were
Tinged Pink
Curled up next to the fire
With paper and a drink
I thought about the bigger
Scheme of things
Trust is rare wood.
The burn is slow;
Don't squander it.
You know
It's the stuff that
Life and dreams are made of
You may need it for warmth
In the cold days of December
When sweaters plans unravel.
~Darkling Plain, Sept. 12, 2006
No comments:
Post a Comment