Clouds Left Me With Sylvia

Sylvia Path

1932-1963

Dead Grass

It is agony to feel irrelevant.

I wonder if the earth swallowed me

anyone would worry I was gone

or be more concerned about

why the grass won’t grow any more.

Walking Dead

The sun on my arms feels lonely.

As much as I hunger for light

my spirit has grown too comfortable with shadows.

I’m the walking dead, a candle without a match.

Blind Paper

I beg ink for something to say.

The blind eye of white paper

frightens me.

So Many Crossroads

I took a long walk out of my mind.

Insanity had so many crossroads

I could never find my way back to me.

The Sound of Ink