My hands are pressing piano keys,
black, white, white, black, white.
You are there, sitting at a distance.
Staring into the Earth, tall grass and shadows and all,
dirt waiting to get into your nails.
The sun here is always either rising or setting.
This is today and that, tomorrow.
We have no in betweens.
4 comments:
Random Person speaks
Your lines doesn't rythme...but it gives a feeling of free and real together.. a poem and a story at the same time..I am glad that people do unrythme ...:)
Thank you =)
awezomenezz! this is really nice, freeflow sort of poetry.i like it very much.
like how it ends :D
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