Inner Workings

Is your mind ever silent?

Lost, without a voice.

The empty space

Filled with stars

Like that inside my thoughts.

A waste land of imagination,

Vast and stretching dry,

As parched I sip from rare sweet pools,

That feed me tears to cry.

My aching heart

It's fingers burned

Has retreated in the dark.

It withers under starving love

And cracks at lovers touch.

It's ravaged plains awash with woe

Contract and break within,

While outside pumps the heady drug

Whose carefree name is you.

The End

4 comments about this poem Feed