"nonchalent" poems
Stuck in this fun-loving bubble-rut
No reason to escape but...
Wear and tear upon body and mind
Yet the more I intake the more that I find
A certain contentness.
Lack of stress.
Away from life's more nonchalent routines
Which are less than suitable for teens..
But soon twenty will creep upon me
And I always want to be this free
To exercise my own creativity
And to be who I want to be.
Dec 3, 2010
Dec 3, 2010 at 5:05 AM UTC
Blargh, (repulsed)
Blue moon, blue moon? (playful calling)
Where are you?
Where have you been?(tender)
Blue moon, blue moon? (loneliness setting in as you gaze out awaiting the train that never arrives)
What have you seen?
Blue moon, blue moon? (heavy hearted)
I've had a dream, (sigh) I've had a dream. (side gaze with a sigh)
A slot of open and a bash of delight. (guileless)
(Sigh)
Oh, blue moon, blue moon? (glum)
Where are you tonight?
I need to leave this area! (fiery rage)
I want to leave this area? (curious)
yes?! (erratic)
To leave this area? (humble bewilderment)
To leave behind the crazed and the immature, the delinquants and the tyranny (assertive)
Such dispair lies within their minds, lost like the foggy winters depth. (anguish)
To wonder, if there will ever be a smile lay upon their ashened faces. (heartened)
The once rosy and pleasant of all chosen places. (sweet blossom enriched with the crisp warmth of mulled wine)
They went and they came, but never accepted, so left behind they became dilapidated. (nonchalant)
Taken by their own obsessions! (dejected)
Like the creaks of the night, they became the howls of the moon. (like cool chills upon the face, the bitter kiss of Jack frost scratching at your door(dead as the night, even the beat of your heart echoes))
Oh, blue moon, Blue moon!? (weep)
Where are you? (nonchalent)
A ponder here sat patiently waiting. (self pity)
Blue moon, Blue moon? (inquisitive)
Why have you left me? (sorrow)
We've been here soo long, so patiently waiting. (tearful)
So far no good, the cries not answered, will there ever be a moment of joy or will they ever be belated. (faded like the mist of the seas, leaving the bitter taste of salt upon the lips)
Oct 5, 2019
Oct 5, 2019 at 10:13 AM UTC