PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I am ash gray and imperfect. I give no persuasion.

I ravenously ingest whatever I see.

I have not hands, nor feet, but I will, still mop the floor with you just the same.

Just as I am unanchored by passion or reclining.

Lovers long since gone, to a point of asexuality.

In a fragile shell that I won’t escape.

I am not brutal, only genuine.

No carved on stone, sentiments.

Laid in sorrow to be drowned by tears.

In sight of little Gods, and smaller heroes.

Most of the time crawling on the bottom, seems always someone else on top.

See my insides only holes that pass through to the other side.



Tides ebb and flow right through me.

Now, a thriving full Moon pushes tides past me blown by  noreaster gale.

I think the Moon is of my heart.

Disappears when I need it the most.

As abuse descends, and atrophy’s ambiance surrounds.

I will renew.