Latch
The latch crumbles at the thought of being opened,
The thought of being rusty and torn,
Falling down onto the hard green surface,
To be a mess for so one to deal with.
When you hear the key click you know it’s over.
The rush of the wind against the cold metal
Feels like a quick fever that will now and never heal.
The thought of being rusty and torn,
Falling down onto the hard green surface,
To be a mess for so one to deal with.
When you hear the key click you know it’s over.
The rush of the wind against the cold metal
Feels like a quick fever that will now and never heal.
Please login or register
You must be logged in or register a new account in order to
Login or Registerleave comments/feedback and rate this poem.