maybe I’m only a small stone in your hand
that you hold
while you walk
through the rustle of trees and the streets in the summer
pick me up
put me down
that’s what I”m for.
Im for throwing ‘cross smooth lakes and during storms
cause thats the times you can’t hear your own self screaming
Im for tossing down balcony windows
cause thats the times you can tell yourself you’re only dreaming
she’s waiting by the door
that lonely woman
you can tell she’s been waiting
so long.
You left me,
pebble
on an asphalt road.
how do you expect me
to get myself home?
Copyright 2014 Golden Star Poetry
Golden Star Poetry 