Jun 13, 2015 19:43
I am listening
to the music.
Telling me to hold on
when I get love and let go
when I give it.
To take
the weakest thing in me,
and then beat the bastards with it.
Laid-back
Sweet voices
Breaths the words
One by one
On a late Saturday afternoon
And the sun sets
As if noisy trains
were passing outside
Like the hands of time
Pointing rudely,
Leaving marks,
Making itself present,
Everywhere it can.
And love is
Where it is present
And where it isn't
All claiming to be in
a song
Within a device
Powered by electricity
within a city
in the dying sun
of the day.
poem