A wading pool I tread restlessly through awaiting the bloom of an ever loving you, the weight of the blue. Failure, a threat that threads my wings into coats of lead. It makes the balloon of your hope stone instead, and like that stone I am still. The gusts of your love blow across my windowsill, offering nothing but a chill that freezes the innermost part of my soul. Failure, a threat that threads my wings into coats of lead. It makes the balloon of your hope stone instead, and like that stone I am still. The gust of your love blows 'cross my windowsill, my windowsill, still, still, still as stone.
Written by: Julian Kerins
Submitted on: November 07, 2020
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