Is It Poetry
Speak To Me Of Prose - Poem by Is It Poetry
Those lines so tight and light they speak to me of prose.
The way that time turns back the clock,
this woman not a girl.
Open doors, clear windows show what I have to give.
Deep inside the closet is a door -closed he showed me.
Because you liked it still - Still I like it to!
Perhaps one day the woman that always was I am.
Perhaps one day the little girl out side she ran away.
My brain once his, is seen - I can not let it go.
Those the wise the way I choose when wisdom is because.
Above his mantle sits my clock, below his looks I have.
Comments about Speak To Me Of Prose by Is It Poetry
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.