Touch ( cinquian)

Thin to the touch,
Rough, like life’s long pathway,
A will so easily broken,
It ends.

A sharp
Asymmetrical ball,
Sitting there in a crumpled heap,

A hard,
Deep rivulet,
Like a canyon between
Two vast mountains on either side
Of you.

So soft,
Like angel dust,
Falling from the heavens,
Floating to earth like a silver

Thin and
Fine, similar
To the entrancing web
Of the deadly mystique of a

Author's Notes/Comments: 

every space the poems either ends or begins.. its not all on poems, just all one type.. in this case, a cinquian.

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