Creaking of wooden boards, before a car shall take its fall into a river with such warm of lights, and extinguished upon the coldly night, and trapped are the souls of freezing, Snap comes a crackle and the pop and before you know it, a bookshop sells how you died in a disaster, A family of sons and daughters This is is the rapid flow of water.
Dreams are like cobbled old stones, The same but varies in these old bones, I twisted the bulb but the street lamps, won't come alive like skateboard ramps in the local of this community and I leave so pale my adversities will fade in the rain as the sun comes out.
A re-write of my first poem after more than a decade and a half break & very rusty. The first version obviously does not have the last 3 years to relate to. I re-wrote the poem to show beginners the difference 3 years make when dedicated to the art of poetry. Poetry will not make you money but it does hone your writing skills. Please note - Damocles below is a troll on this site who targets random people for sport, he has nothing better to do with his time. Please ignore his comment below.