He’s given too much to rumination.
A little too quick to trust concentration;
however misplaced, dull and graceless,
a soul in stasis as he passively paces.
Shapeless he coils
Into an infinite past.
A shame, if this time
were to be his last.
He may never come back.
He may run off the tracks.
He just might slip right through the cracks.
That quiet one,
who never laughs,
with eyes like shattered glass.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s