Climb the highest mountain, punch the face of god
Once there was a wagon and I fell off it
It was haunting,
The way his voice fell
From his lips.
I use somebody's
Crutch as a cushion
And hope to
Meander on.
And notice, the
Roses don't die
When I breathe my
Frost upon their
Ridged leaves.
I want your heart
Smashed on a silver
Platter and delivered
To me dressed
In red satin.
Do you think
I ask for too much?
October 17, 2008
The way his voice fell
From his lips.
I use somebody's
Crutch as a cushion
And hope to
Meander on.
And notice, the
Roses don't die
When I breathe my
Frost upon their
Ridged leaves.
I want your heart
Smashed on a silver
Platter and delivered
To me dressed
In red satin.
Do you think
I ask for too much?
October 17, 2008
Comment On This Poem --- Vote for this poem
Once there was a wagon and I fell off it
Once there was a wagon and I fell off it
