Flailing your arms in the air
Lord I've seen too much of this life.
Well **** it.
I don't care.
Neon lights are shining so bright
In my face
I can't
See
Where I am going anymore

Take Me Out
Take Me Out

Busses and trains.
Driving people in circles,
where they'll remain.

Nothing is gonna change.
Give up.
Do what you want.
Stop playing your ****** up game.

Just relax.
But hold on tight,
it's gonna be a bumpy ride.

Take me down.
Take me down.

Take me out
of my body
my mind  
of my soul.

Take me out
because I see what we're headed for
Oh yeah.

I know what we're headed for.
I know what we're headed for.
I know what we're headed for.
I know what we're headed for.

Another romantic poet for whom gusto
Of poem was great and alluring, ergo
He would a novel write and praise Nero.
His solitary poem was a masterpiece forgo
The old ideas and forms of poets did gizmo.
Bridge  and Cuckoo poems have inflow
Of creativity and rhetorical devices lo.
Can anyone join him in his maestro?
No! None can! Even searching in Oslo.
Hence, friends, give him courtesy low
And try to achieve views getting below.

A romantic poet whose great talents grow.
More successful have more numbers of foe.
Lucy Poems and Tintern Abbey in mind deep go.
When he wrote Lyrical Ballads he did glow
And makes the world better residing, though
Not happy with others, kept listening echo
Of the nature and wrote many verses ago.
Through his poem I wandered like a cloud slow;
He is the best romantic poet I think by a quo.
Missing his poems even by chance is a woe.
Alas! How badly I miss his Lucy Poem I know.
So once again, ready to relish his poems stow
With joy, delight, elation and ecstasy lido.

I came here for criticism
To be loved by many
I came here to share my truth
To see if I was any good
But how will I know
If you don't tell me
So all I ask is to review my work
as if I was good enough to be here
Will i get rejected?
Or will I aspire?
How will I know?
I am not looking for approval.
Just to become a better writer
So if you hate my truth then tell me why.

The paper drips with red blood from my soul
There’s no ink left in my pen
The clock has used up all its hours
The music of the spheres has ended.

I set out to build a village in a place
Not hard to find without a map
Proudly I used local lumber
Made sure the walls were square and true.

Sadly no one wants to live there
No one stops to hear my song
(Just one clear voice and not an opera )
People look and listen briefly then move on
     ≈
Wandering through the others’ harvests
I see words stacked in random order
Piled like fancy autumn haystacks
Held in place with azure ribbons

Mumbled voices raised in solos
Whose words I cannot parse or learn
Where verses run from one to twenty
And the applause is deafening

What seems real is evanescent
Fleeting as the winking of an owl
Impossible to braid with just two strands
And painted over with graffiti.
   ≈
How am I to fly when it appears
That I can barely walk and yet
I thought that I knew how to dance.
I guess I never found the beat.

I can’t but keep on building sturdy
Little one theme dwellings
It’s the only thing I know
And I’ll live there all by myself

And hope a visitor or two
Will stop by now and then
To say hello and how are you
And share a cup of my brand’s tea.
ljm

I don't get offended when people criticise me because nobody can hurt me more than i've hurt myself.