Pockets
Just another fool,
Used more than a tool,
Sheltering under the rain
With hands buried,
In bottomless pockets,
Deciding if life is sane.
He tries to laugh about it,
Lie there's a glimmer,
But then nothings good to come
And those hands dig deeper.
by
Bourneposted on 05/18/2008
Vote:


Comments: 11
Click here to send this poem to a friend