Coping, or not coping, but wanting every last thing to stop. To stop being important, to stop being a barrier, to stop being afraid, and stop always having to move on and leave things unresolved. To end.  


Lie of a lie, blueness of sky

Hiding the eye of darkness

Uproot the vine

And cool the light

Befriended; crowned a heartless


The glossy shine, sweet cherry dye

Tiny shy lines of harmless

The wind and chime,

Half moonlit night

Cut glooms I have to harness


Secrets to find, fondle and pry

Signing of renewed bargains

A timely cry

And desperate why

The freeze to kill all targets




1 Comment

Filed under Art, Death, Life, personal, poems, poetry, Thoughts

One response to “Stopped

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