Poetry

Sweet sweat filling my nostrils
Choking this vital air meant for my lungs
With a stride that doesn’t care

And I listened to his voice
Cool timbers of a drum that echoes my heartbeat
But his mind is numb

Piercing my thoughts
With ebony eyes that gaze over me
As steam does rise

But this rhyming is pointless
He will never perceive this passion inside
That I wish to leave
Friday, 23 April 2010