The hay, the son, the breath, the grass
Surround me here, but what a mess
Inside my head - my car a couple miles
Away from me. I am pumping gas,
Will have to carry heavy gallons
Back to where I stopped –
A town of ghosts where no one belongs.
The bulky trees are now whispering their
Song into my ear, “Oh, dear,
We wish your ride was near!” I wish
With them that I would have the time
To lay on hay without any worries -
Inside cries. I’d dream about happy stories.
At least, I am here now with the golden
Rays, that warm me up, my soul…
No more delays. No more like that,
You hear me, God?
I won’t, I swear. I won’t be at a pump
Without wheels. This punishment
Came with the healing lesson:
Don’t drive a car low on gas,
Prevent depression.
15-Oct-2018
The Inside Cry
© Copyright: Снежана Валенская, 2018
Свидетельство о публикации №118101600383
Свидетельство о публикации №118101600383
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