Muddle

Poems and Things

He couldn’t fill my lack that stacks. My heart; that yearn that burns, my unsteady head. My longing pining, whining, crying, “come to me”. There are no more words so stern, the steady head right now. Just me listening to the high tide words so deep, just need to sleep. It strikes my senses, wet ink spreading, words of incense intoxicating. Palpable is my glum, there is no rule of thumb. I’m alone, my mother’s busy. While others snuggle, I’m caught in a muddle.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s