Again

Forked over fields, where sadly, understatably she'll stay,
another time, while lifeless paper print only creases. At the sound of her voice,
and again she asks, devestatedly, why is it so, this? Again.

so that, it's the only thing to keep her calm, while pen-thin soldiers fall down, hung low
they dangle, awake on branches, for how long we cannot tell. When yesterday brought hope and today where retches lie and all she can think to do again, is so useless, it's inevitable, it's not normal. why carry on this way when tomorrow is always so different. But the previous amazement, flaunted itself in comparison.. one will never understand. He gave out too many unfortunate events, fortunate at the time, where on they were looked upon so different.

Time runs slowly, out.

Portrays an image of selfless hope, hopelessness.
Why not walk until the end of time.

Silence was always my favourite thing; the only thing. So simple, in comparison divine.

Take me away. Now.

Reviews

[Anonymous]

So I don't know if the lateness of the night/my sleep deprivation is causing me to not think clearly, but I didn't quite understand this poem, but I enjoyed the rhythm and mystery of it :)