Treasure Island

Is It Poetry

(1958 - / Bus-Boys And Poets, Washington D.C.)

They Were Not My Everything


To see the moon for what you are.
The grass is green and blue the sky.
Is dark when you are thick,
the leaves the tree, I left alone.
My Everything your little fingers
pull and pushed away.
When the bottom is daylight.
Rain comes again without within.
There light did form and more.
I came to think you are.
And the truth the answer often is.

Submitted: Thursday, February 28, 2013
Edited: Friday, March 01, 2013
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