Litkicks Message Board Archive

705

Posted to Poetry




Spattered ceiling, rustic floor
An intrusion on past folklore

Lying next to the history of art
These two hearts, years apart

Walls of time expand
only echoes emanate from this stand

And in this place I constantly push
For liquid minds eventually drown

Closed eyes, and I only listen
Pulse. Pulse. Pulse. Pulse.

Aorta's magma winds throughout
Giving life to eyes for sure

And they continue to refocus
Spattered ceiling, rustic floor.

(cyoung6)