Finding You

The
Layers
Doth open
Closing you in.
The strike of pity
Piles a prisoner’s sin.
The casket tells a story
Buried underground, of a man,
Six feet tall, all was nothing he kept,
Richard Cory, silence was all it took.
Williams was Robin himself, I suppose,
Like stars that shine too timid at night,
The wings clipped of a bird to die,
Shield us not from memory,
Cover up your layers,
Cut open the hide,
Let your soul find
Your prison
Again.
Live.

Leonell

Click Next To Continue Reading This Post

Tagged as: