In correct devotions

in time, the problems that have
needlessly begun to worry all over you
can be dismissed in the freedom of
other social circles you never really cared for
revealed in these ill-connected words
rolling out of my mouth like dice well-tossed
empty brain barely even collecting the ears up
causing thoughts to crash together like waves
thundering around the walls of my cave-mind
during the night when a few questions
erode some willpower, taking persistence to a new level
volumes of writings that adorn the floor
old notebooks, syllables from a previous life
told by the red years to hang around a bit longer
in case a fire comes cruising in the door
only you make me feel a million feet tall
not worthless like everything else does,
sometimes it is ice, sometimes it is glass

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About jaybeasley2

a writer, a painter, a poet, a wordsmith
This entry was posted in poem, poems, poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

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