bits

every day, the voices calling,

colors swirling, shadows falling,

every night, the bits of aching,

dreams so close too far for taking —

 

every morning, sitting silent,

angry news and world gone violent,

evening each, they push and pull her,

grasping for some bits

of color

Author: Beleaguered Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.

1 thought on “bits”

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