Aging

This poem is a bit about the ending of something, but its mostly an overview about the beginning of something.

In twelve hours,

the sun will rise,

blanket everything

hide all the cries.

In twelve hours,

they will rise,

drift from sleep,

imagine in blank surprise.

In twelve hours,

when the sun never falls,

and its jammed over a thing

that no world should be called,

In twelve hours,

the dreaming

will end,

abandon the hopefuls and

the kindness within

In twelve hours

when the age stops turning

it'll be obvious who left

who's hurting

In twelve hours

when everything ends,

nothing could put

a childhood

back together

again.

The End

0 comments about this poem Feed