Glass, I Am

Sweet people swimming steadily;
Up a river of glass, they bleed.
All the nobodies nailing themselves
To the earth itself that shatters.
In an array of broken pieces,
We all swim in the nothingness that is before us;
It is our end.

As I continue nailing myself like all the rest,
Creating broken roots that break,
The river I must swim in is of my own creation.
I'm sorry to those sweet people swimming
In the shards of glass I laid before them.

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems

Share This Poem