He's held up
by what seems to be
his own thoughts.
Racing and whirring,
like the wind
over the flat fields.
He has choices
but none of them are easy
either way, things will change.
She's held up
by what seems to be
her own fears.
Rushing and stirring
her poor little heart,
like rain on young flowers.
She has a voice,
but holds silence,
because speaking up never worked before.
They sit side by each
and say nice things,
yet all the while
the things they want to say
go again, unsaid.
They're held up.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Please leave your comments! Whether it be constructive criticism or praise, I want to hear it!