PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

in the early morning

the wind blows through

my heart

my blood runs cold

gripping to my dreams

not wanting to wake



the life I have created,

the one that consumes

is becoming unbearable

my soul is transgressing into

despair



happiness seems miles away

happiness is in my hands

slipping through my fingertips

like sand



I have no verve

loosing my nerve

headed sideways

through the heart

of some common land



marked in time

the clock is stuck there

and here is where

I walk the line