The words on this board —
Sixteen years old;
The writers,
Long-sleeping, I fear —
But this chalk, that’s the byword
For transcience,
Is somehow, some way,
Still here
It’s hard to know reasons
For what has been;
What’s lost,
What has yet to be built —
But somethings remain
That we can’t explain
Wrapped up in
Survivor’s guilt
Like this:
Like Loading...
Tagged: Tags Poetry
Published by Beleaguered Servant
Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.
View all posts by Beleaguered Servant
