How do you hold onto an ocean current?
There are continents pulling to get away.
Sunspots are forming from your grip.
These tides rise as high as a moon.
The seas are calling and beckoning.
Can you not hear our cries?
The backdrop is hope.
It went missing from the wide blue sky.
How do you tell heaven to kneel?
Your indigo is a ruse.
Still, are there not galaxies forming under your will?
We collide and bruise.
© Delia Ross. 2020 / @poeeternal
A bit of a Frankenstein poem for you; half non-rhyme, half rhyme- unintentional.
Thanks for checking out my work and supporting indie artist!! I appreciate!