Hydrate Time
Must I be patient for my own demise?
I do not know what is out there,
beyond crests of time,
pillows of snow
&
schemes of wonder.
Lust towards unknown
and unheard of
realities.
Is this real?
Or am I dreaming again.
Lost in the folds of forced expression.
Like a broken faucet,
constantly dripping
but doing my duty:
keeping it hydrated.
👁 2💬 0
Something wrong with this poem?
Replies are closed for this poem.
cheyanimal14
From Wyoming living in Washington. Just graduated High School and now attending University. I grew up on a ranch and in a dinner theatre, I write, read, act, play, sing, and basically anything I'm willing to try.
View all poems →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.