I hate the way the white walls wash my brain;
My creativity just flies away.
The way the wind blows the last bits of grain,
Leaving only thoughts of claws on a fall day.
I wish there was a river for my soul,
To wash old ideas and cleanse my thoughts.
If only the policemen would patrol,
Equipped with shotguns, staggers, and shots
To whisk away all the harried lost lambs
That comb my mind, searching for sustenance.
It's the pain these days that suddenly slams
A lid on my good thoughts of relevance.
Everything once valued is put away,
And all things stirring and dark run astray.
:) something new: a shakespearean sonnet or english sonnet done with the highly talented ashley somebody! :D really honored to work with her! thank you! it was a challenge for me cause sonnets rnt my thing, but it was an interesting challenge ^~^ it goes by her, then me, then her, then me and so on every two lines ~