My hands smell of rusted iron. I've been holding the window grills for too long. My heart sounds like the rustle of autumn leaves. It's been falling for too long. My soul seems to be a rustic recluse. It's been a lone gypsy for far too long. And this poem is but a rusty rhyme, echoing the sound of your thoughts rustling against each other in conflict. Rustic, but not in a rush, wandering in greens lush. You've been holding the window grills for too long. You've forgotten what a door knob feels like. #poem #rustic
