Ropes hanging,

Bones that use to grow Rose's from guns,

That use to have ignitions filled with suns.

Burning worldly desires.

Ropes hanging,

Memories on a wooden balcony,

Rocking chairs on the porch singing archaic soliloquies.

But the clouds still move,

Every push made for our eyes,

Soft like cotton

And sweet like a good-night kiss.

We dance through life,

Virgins of wisdom,

Teachers of freedom.

But sometimes,

Our minds get trapped in solitude.

So we cave in,

With shadows that never walked with us.

Until we swing silent.

Ropes hanging,

Bodies being punched with echoes.

Tears made for a loss,

But not for care.

Ropes hanging,

Kids jumping into an abyss too soon,

The fall isnt meant for youth.

-CMCrain




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