I came back to the poem with more ideas,
Trying to wake up the unsuspecting reader
To walk with them though my stories
I didn’t want them to think I was rapping
nor was I singing the blues
Poetry is no longer frightening
Like a sudden force of lightening;
Awakening your senses to the art
From the start: to the fuzzy end
I dared you not to walked away from this piece
However, I beg of you to read this piece with ease
Today, I wish that the little birds on my window
Will sing to me, but instead the cold morning breeze
kept them away:
An exciting dimension of their songs makes my day
Comes alive:
In my lucid dream last night, I saw beach goers
Watching the tides go in and out:
way down the harbor road
Their soak their feet in a stream
of warm running water
So I took a seat and I joined the relaxing crowd
Dreams are scarier, more than poetry.
**Sadness flies on the wings of the morning and out
of the heart of darkness comes the light. ~Jean Giraudoux**
I came back to this poem with a sense of knowing, that a
Poet can survive everything but a misprint Oscar -Wilder
Apr 7, 2017
Apr 7, 2017 at 1:09 PM UTC
I came back to the poem with more ideas,
Trying to wake up the unsuspecting reader
To walk with them though my stories
I didn’t want them to think I was rapping
nor was I singing the blues
Poetry is no longer frightening
Like a sudden force of lightening;
Awakening your senses to the art
From the start: to the fuzzy end
I dared you not to walked away from this piece
However, I beg of you to read this piece with ease
Today, I wish that the little birds on my window
Will sing to me, but instead the cold morning breeze
kept them away:
An exciting dimension of their songs makes my day
Comes alive:
In my lucid dream last night, I saw beach goers
Watching the tides go in and out:
way down the harbor road
Their soak their feet in a stream
of warm running water
So I took a seat and I joined the relaxing crowd
Dreams are scarier, more than poetry.
**Sadness flies on the wings of the morning and out
of the heart of darkness comes the light. ~Jean Giraudoux**
I came back to this poem with a sense of knowing, that a
Poet can survive everything but a misprint Oscar -Wilder
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