Music is my only refuge
Expresses the soul of Nature
The mellifluous journey between notes
Lingers in my heart, the silken veil
Drives away the melancholy, music cradles
Soul to Soul, I sing away Nature’s notes

They say
The music
is bad for me;
They don't see that
The music
helps me breathe.

They say
Excessive texting
is unhealthy;
They don't see
What they've taken
away from me.

They say
It leaves my
mind empty;
They don't see
These lines
of poetry.

Kinda ironic
I write poems and find myself
writing about how much I hate English.
I don't want to read
Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde again
or analyse a play!
No matter how interesting.
The themes are the the themes
and the characters the story tellers
but to me it's just words
No link in my head.
Every sentence is read.
Then the next,
makes no sense.
It all seems out of context
but no one realises
I don't know what the ****
the teacher goes on and on about,
it goes over my head.
I can't explain my ideas
because I can't make them myself
and I can't understand where anyone else's are from.
So I lead my self on a tangent,
that could go on and on repeating itself
that could go on and on repeating itself
that could go on and on repeating itself
but will never come back to the beginning.
Writing aimlessly
but no one seems to see;
it's all nonsense to me.
Kinda ironic.