There is
an oak that sits...
She grows accustomed to
cold chains upon her wrists...
Collecting thoughts-
like stars inside a child's hand...
And suddenly everything was grey,
including yellow...
You can never be a tempest,
You won't even be a storm...
Wonder at the tallest structures of man
yet understand each disappears from view...
Why do I
Always have to be...
Listen...
Can you hear...
I am quite a lonely man
truth known...
You spoke as though you held
the moon hostage between...
When I was young I envied my older sister,
Her achievements have always outshined mine...
I want to be a watermelon
and roll...