Survival
Limbs hang over a rush of water,
trying not fall just to totter.
In the fall some limbs break,
only to reach their unexpected fate.
So far I still sit here hanging over this rush of water,
trying not to fall just to totter.
👁 2💬 1
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 (1)
Log in to leave a comment.