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Stoic Gone
March 2, 2018
You can't have anymore of my precious blood,
or those veins they bleed through
for your hands, they caused a vicious flood,
and my eyes grew soaked too
unlike my head.
that remained at ease
continually fed
very little inclinations to please.
I remained a staid fixure
on a silly white peak
From my place I barely missed her
But I had no will to speak
My skin did burn
searing hot
And with this, may thee learn--
with nothing but a whim,
i did not
© Narongsukchai T., Sachse, TX
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