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andy-fardellPoems
If ever I must sing as poets have Then the world would be haunted They'd find I was mad I'd sing to the stars I'd sing to the moon No place on this earth Could hide from my tunes See my words sound on paper so wicked and loud Yet sing as I do No poets allowed The writing goes dancing all over the sheet My voice in an octave Not pleasant indeed My shrill is the dreading of living in range One shout of my music Sends war from the planes I've tried many lessons to Be just like them The greats like Lord Bryon Keats and Miss Anne Well I read the "Farewell" Unusual for me as reading old lines Means nothing but trees She leaped of the page and incited My views I know where's she lays now I bow to her muse Three years I've been singing as poets would have Yet all I find out there are Wishes and sad I want to send volumes for all of the land I want to find gold The never the grand I want to sing out yet my voice Goes unheard I want to rejoice My willing my verse One day that I'm famous the poets will say Please sing for us badly As dead as I be   And sing like an angel .. My pure poetry
0
Nov 9, 2013
Nov 9, 2013 at 12:38 AM UTC
Sing
If ever I must sing as poets have Then the world would be haunted They'd find I was mad I'd sing to the stars I'd sing to the moon No place on this earth Could hide from my tunes See my words sound on paper so wicked and loud Yet sing as I do No poets allowed The writing goes dancing all over the sheet My voice in an octave Not pleasant indeed My shrill is the dreading of living in range One shout of my music Sends war from the planes I've tried many lessons to Be just like them The greats like Lord Bryon Keats and Miss Anne Well I read the "Farewell" Unusual for me as reading old lines Means nothing but trees She leaped of the page and incited My views I know where's she lays now I bow to her muse Three years I've been singing as poets would have Yet all I find out there are Wishes and sad I want to send volumes for all of the land I want to find gold The never the grand I want to sing out yet my voice Goes unheard I want to rejoice My willing my verse One day that I'm famous the poets will say Please sing for us badly As dead as I be   And sing like an angel .. My pure poetry
andy-fardell
Written by
andy-fardell
English
Nov 9, 2013
Nov 9, 2013 at 12:38 AM UTC
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