Split

I’ll never see my parents if they hug too many people,

and I’ll never see my friends if they are crowded by a steeple,

and I’ll never see my lovers if they die before I meet ‘em,

and I’ll never see my dreams if they are falling when I speak ‘em,

and my hair is getting longer 'cause there’s no one here to cut it,

and my life is getting shorter, the statistic slowly mutters,

and my boss is getting richer while I’m bound to fall apart,

and my memory is failing. When did I last hear a heart?

This poem is about: 
Me
My family
My community
My country
Our world

Comments

basilbrunch

I'd love to hear some critisism. I write every day, but it's sort of an echo chamber of my own thoughts and critiques, so it would be great to see my strengths and weaknesses highlighted by other poets.

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