Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
I can't hear the choir from my couch It becomes a funeral pyre in a pouch Like the unnatural fire in my slouch That is where I retire To superficially admire A world I'll never see Placing trust in the screen I'm as lonely as can be Until couches set me free From a life worrying about others The couch becomes my banal brother That is where I concoct my cowardly plan To avoid my fellow meddlesome man Living a life in silence The couch creates pylons Determining where I can go Determining what I can know This Ottoman Empire Lights the world on fire With cushions that fuel Flames and drool I attempt to stand But life seems bland With feeling constant comfort So my personality I import From the images on TV And my brain it impedes When I can't think for myself I put my life on the shelf And flee into furniture The couch my burning cure
0
Sep 14, 2017
Sep 14, 2017 at 7:05 AM UTC
Couch
I can't hear the choir from my couch It becomes a funeral pyre in a pouch Like the unnatural fire in my slouch That is where I retire To superficially admire A world I'll never see Placing trust in the screen I'm as lonely as can be Until couches set me free From a life worrying about others The couch becomes my banal brother That is where I concoct my cowardly plan To avoid my fellow meddlesome man Living a life in silence The couch creates pylons Determining where I can go Determining what I can know This Ottoman Empire Lights the world on fire With cushions that fuel Flames and drool I attempt to stand But life seems bland With feeling constant comfort So my personality I import From the images on TV And my brain it impedes When I can't think for myself I put my life on the shelf And flee into furniture The couch my burning cure
andrew-rueter
Written by
30/M/Kentucky
Sep 14, 2017
Sep 14, 2017 at 7:05 AM UTC
Request permission to use this poem