Torn Poem by Brad Kellum
Torn
At night, descending twilight, sleep moves vagrantly past.
With eyes stilled know what's in this man.
Two sea inside this man living a lie.
Expressedly he's afaid to imply.
He doubts it's to those beside he shall lay.
But, to himself he's reluctant to say.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Topic(s) of this poem: sea,sleep
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8/24/2026 6:14:21 AM # rel_20260813T193622Z_3aad590
