Ryan Arthur Walker
It's Over, For Me. - Poem by Ryan Arthur Walker
My sun rises at Eight
and sets at Five
I feel most comfortable
in the heat of the night
The cool calm collection of trees
swaying as in rhythm with my pounding steps
Capture me. Place me in solitary confinement.
no padded walls, just realism.
The distinction between Night and Day is small
for in the dark I can still see
If I close my eyes
The Sun still tells me to believe
The brush set fire last Saturday.
As that fire burned the yellow now became my sun
and the orange became my fire
The red was cold though, like your blood
I was hanging on to you, cut with chicken wire.
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