The Busted
A crack here and there
Or everywhere
The tape no longer holds the tale
For which I was to regail
Centuries past
And the stone turned to glass
Passing the last thing you trashed
Cracked as it smashed into the head bashed
Awakens the half dead slumberer
Tumblerer tumbling weed
Dug below rock bottom
And now just a plunderer with no will to succeed
Barely standing as their busted face shows their busted teeth
👁 2💬 0
Something wrong with this poem?
Replies are closed for this poem.
Your Poem's Voice
See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.
Comments (0)
No comments yet. Be the first to share your thoughts.
Log in to leave a comment.