Poetry are lines
Like a river
That I haven’t crossed in a while
Jeans rolled up to my knees
Wading in words that
Are soaked with emotion
There is no stream
No flow of thoughts
Just a water
Fall
Down to jagged rocks
Where whitewater bleeds
Black ink
Poetry are lines
Like a river
That I haven’t crossed in a while
Jeans rolled up to my knees
Wading in words that
Are soaked with emotion
There is no stream
No flow of thoughts
Just a water
Fall
Down to jagged rocks
Where whitewater bleeds
Black ink
