How to describe the third person,
In third person; while your eyes are
Still ******, to the world' curses:
Who says we're too different, as we
Feel magnificent, but indifferent to
Their efficient, who aren't so innocent.
But we stay vigilant, to feel certain.
Ring, ring,
Goes the call to my head,
Asking if we're heading in the
Right direction, when we're in
Over our head. Could it be red,
Could it be read? To title myself
An open book, as Nowadays it's,
Either bled or blend.
A Cinderella without her feet,
Would she in the end find her Prince?
Or would she be stepped by step sisters;
And each other's many conflicts.
I'd still watch that flick.
A Pinocchio, nosey for the
Smell of flesh. He'd tell a lie,
To get under a dress. But how
Long would he reply on a lie;
To seem like he could impress.
I'd enjoy that, I must confess.
Or if a Snow white, never met a kiss,
But instead remained fast asleep.
Or never really needed a Prince.
But a huntsman, to guard herself,
By teaching her his survival tricks.
That ending kind of fits.
But why do we use made up
Fairy tales, to ferry well, on the
Endless waves of life, just to sail.
We never really measure the details,
Because we're too busy weighing our
Problems on a broken scale.
Pinheads disguised as a nail
Don't miss your step in life,
You could be close to a misstep.
Who'd forget a first cut of a knife;
As you're always on the cutting-edge.
Thinking little of moments, but what if
That little moment had it's last breath.
You'd cherish every little moment instead.
Finally,
Poetic flow, in my pen
Is always a river of words.
Seems to grown into an Ocean,
As you can hear the Waves and Birds.
Smelling the scent of salts,
Weighing heavy on your hearts.
Drowning in my deep thoughts.
Hoping to cross,
To meet the end of my pen.
But perhaps the end is the source,
And the source are thoughts,
You follow along in due course.
A pen of flow at the water's edge;
A building wave,
Prepare yourself for what's ahead.
Ahead of the tip of my pen.
As I don't write words of boys and girls,
This pen held by ten thousand women and men.
The Pen's flow
