Red Poem by Daniel Muller
Red
Argue with the world again,
Can't find my cup a holder.
Burning coal is icy cone
Cool, calm, calculate
I close my eyes and clear my head
All I see are targets now
With coarse caution,
I pluck the strings
A sweet, siren symphony
only the marked can hear
My hair is long,
my temper short.
As the wall tears down,
Thaw.
Thursday, March 12, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: love
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5/3/2024 7:10:00 PM # 1.0.0.1119
