I promise hollow words to deaf ears
I say things like 'the sun will explode tonight'
So I sit on cold steps, face pressed west
Pocketknife in hand, carving lost stars
But the fog rolls in thick from cold rivers
Dances madly on brick walls
These clouds have put
This city to it’s
Bed
And I long for that brilliance
That explosion of bright chaos
That quiet build up of
Lost passion
These eyes have grown tired
Of quiet nights on steps
Of cloudy days on streets
Of no balls of flame inside
Those eyes
I sit with an anchor in my pocket
Gnashing heart pressed tight to chest
“burn, burn, burn” it says
Before I learn
Complacency
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
work it out. more definition. different layout/development than what i feel is your natural inclination when it comes to segmenting lines. title: A+ ... care, sjg