I’ve seen enough **** and ***** for a lifetime. It’s growing old now. It’s a mix of lust, addiction, and fantasy. Mixed together seeing the same thing And not having love. It’s confusing and misplaced attention.
everyday I walk past the same bus stop searching for a familiar face in the windows I couldn't tell you how many times the bus stops there each day but I can remember each time the memories begin in my fingers and ended in the tears on my cheek and how often the driver closes the door so fast that it busts on my face like my windshield did last Christmas break and how I sat and listened to each piece of glass cutting into me like the words of my father whose religion was drinking himself to death everyday I walk past the same bus stop with the same people at the same hour and I wonder how often they go home to shaking bodies and broken bones and how many times that door gets slammed in their face so hard that they remember every time he grabbed her too hard and how she would claw the door for someone to pull her up for air or how often they almost got away but they didn't press the gas hard enough or the window wasn't high enough and I wonder how many of the innocent souls on the damaged bus have seen the light after they've been in the dark for so long
This is not a poem, in sorry for that. I just wish to ask if anyone that is still on poetfreak, what has happened with it being closed as of today? Poems can be saved but it seems it's life has been taken early.
Brown and furry Caterpillar in a hurry, Take your walk To the shady leaf, or stalk, Or what not, Which may be the chosen spot. No toad spy you, Hovering bird of prey pass by you; Spin and die, To live again a butterfly.