My love, is this journey ever to truly end?
My head, it is pounding the glass window,
Louder than the thousand voices around me!
A buzz in my heart, it is bright and fresh.
It electrocutes my ribs and leaves me enraptured.
My trembling hands are so feeble,
They cast shadows in the lamppost-light
That electrifies the dark coach.
Wheels turn, voices laugh,
But their noise is faint against my thoughts.
The clock, it ticks,
But the hands do not turn!
A trick of the light? Nay, the mind!
This journey will never truly end.
The lonely child,
A picture,
Of bewilderment and beauty pure.
Of quaking terror and wrath.
Of sweet revenge.
The lonely child,
Who is this fragile angel?
Who is this,
Dark wanderer of the night?
Will she ever come to rest?
This wrathful cherub,
The lonely child.
It's trying to rain, you know. by hannahdavies666, literature
Literature
It's trying to rain, you know.
The clouds, they grumble like cows
Need of milking.
The sparks in the sky;
So blistered with frustration,
So keen to fall as raindrops.
Fluttering fingers peck the sparkling atoms,
Kisses giggle
Like caffeine on the still rain.
Clouds like daydreams
Loom in the sea of sky
That yearns in imaginary icicles.
Then like a sw
o
r
