The every-moment thought:
Can I sink any lower?
So much to be grateful for.
And how I love it so.
Til the Human Condition strikes.
And stops me in my tracks.
It picks at me, the feast, and
From time to time, picks clean.
Depressed, a head so empty.
And so I recognize this.
Get through it. No bliss.
Get through it. Subsist.
Sunshine will bleed soon.
Til then I have you, my Moon.
My Moon. So beautiful.
I promise I won't forget you.
-miguel
No comments:
Post a Comment