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Crayons
May 14, 2010
It's funny how these cliche days
Bring sorrow memories
When rounded crayons
Take a waxy texture
And the light reaches
It's breathless fingers closer
Bitter cold pockets of air
As I trudge along the
Immaculate sidewalks
Staring longingly at what
I feel I can't have
We always long
To belong
It's strange how a breaking wave
Can change the most innate belief
How the whisper of an
Empty package
Has the innocent ability
To teach us what matters
© Daniel H., Durham, NC
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