chosen inevitability, the

somehow a little more
      bitter
with less vitality by which
      the air might sing as it
passes through your hair and
      between your fingers
when you ran in golden
      fields and left a
trampled path behind the
      soles of your bare
feet but
      you didn't get anything
sharp stuck in them
      now the barbs pierce the
toughest hide because our
      language isn't so gentle
i feel
      older

Log in or registerto write something here or to contact authors.