Climb the highest mountain, punch the face of god
Eleven Eleven
Abandoned by the cold, cold storm,
The umbrella of ice over my thoughts thaws
The memories from their caves.
A dark silence flutters like leaves in the wind,
These foggy trees stick and stab me
With their branches as I desire home.
But homeless, I build a bonfire of my
Whines and tears, pulling the blue flames up
Like a blanket.
1-6-11
The umbrella of ice over my thoughts thaws
The memories from their caves.
A dark silence flutters like leaves in the wind,
These foggy trees stick and stab me
With their branches as I desire home.
But homeless, I build a bonfire of my
Whines and tears, pulling the blue flames up
Like a blanket.
1-6-11
Comment On This Poem --- Vote for this poem
Eleven Eleven
Eleven Eleven
