Yet another poem I can’t finish
Everything’s been felt.
Every tear, every reaction,
Every cauldron of emotion that boils over in our minds.
And every feeling hits us, as rhythmic as time,
Skimming like stones
Until the water-wall gives way,
Until, one day, we change.
But if someone, some time,
Has felt and changed like me,
Are all my words clichéd?
(The answer’s no, but I don’t have a clue how to finish this off. And maybe this is awful, but I liked writing it anyway. Even if my poetry is rubbish, writing it always focuses and calms me)
