"sourness" poems
Living freely in this world
My vulnerability, feels so lost
As it seeks the skies to escape all
Perched high away and hiding
My heart forsaken
For my vulnerability
Has left
The little bird has flown
My retreating heart lives behind
Many layers of frozen ice
The warm waters of my heart
Have all frozen over
Come back, come back little bird
A teardrop falls
For I see the loss of potential
In this frozen pond
Where waters should be warm
My heart should sing
Great rich jungles, it should bring
My pride wounded by this world
I stare into my murky depths
My standing in this world falling
As my legs are taken
By the jaws of a giant beast
Far away a bird twitches
My stomach twists and turns
Absorbed I am into the belly
Of a great giant crocodile
I begin to feel my vulnerability
In these dangerous warm acidic waters
As I merge into a crocodile
And high above a bird leaves his perch
As the ice layers break
With the force of my tail
New eyes see the self importance in people
Of this earth, with all their arrogance
I will bring you back to earth
For I am the last living dinosaur
Born from a time when T.rex reigned
And even the birds had teeth
For I still live in waters
Where Piranha's seek to
Frenzy on living flesh
And I am to be scared of you
I warn all of those who wish to disturb
My open and most precious heart
That rests in silence over my pond
For your flesh will quiver
With the sound of my ancient growl
And your eyes will panic
With the sight of my jaw
A quiet bird flutters closer
Bring your bitterness and all your sourness
For I am hungry and love rotten meat
And your disregard feeds my fury
Circle my pond
Where my heart rests softly
With rich and green waters
Bursting and growing in love
For I am not scared to feel
And I will lounge and grab
As a tonne of me, slaps itself
Bang, hard on this earth
For I am here to feel it
And not escape it
But you will be blind
And lost in my depths
I will turn you over and
Your arrogance will feed me
As I grow stronger
You will be ripped limb from limb
A little bird comes closer
My heart free from noise
A silence nestles in me
And all innocence is seen
Beautiful souls float freely
Butterflies dance and play
And my beautiful vulnerability
returns in sweet song
And rests softly in my jaw
A strange paradox becomes so very clear
With a little bird we hold so dear
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 7:54 PM UTC
Dear Nike,
No better felling then when I get that new shoe smell
Fresher than a spring breeze
Like a wizard making a new spell
I reach out and grab my Nikes
Pull them on my feet
They are
Comfy as a the softest cloud
Smooth as the purest silk
Magnificent as a majestic eagle spreading its wings to fly off into a deep red sunset
They make me feel relaxed as sitting in the shade on a warm summer day
When I wear you
I feel as strong as the Rock lifting a thousand pounds
faster than Usain Bolt shattering a world record and hearing fans cream his name
All the pressure off
It's just my Nikes and I
I'm a blur with my nikes
Fast as a cheetah sprinting after a desperately bounding antelope
Can't even see me
People try to keep up
All they do is trip up
When they glance up from the cold hard ground thick mud covering their face
All they see are my beautiful piercing green Nikes
Running down the court
Legs pumping
Muscles flexing
So much sweat pouring off my face its like a raging river
I taste the sourness of salt in my mouth
Next thing you know
It's all over
The buzzer roars
Everyones jumps on their feet
All eyes locked on the ball flying through the air
Fans screaming like angry banshees so loud it could make you deaf
Swoosh
And it's all over
There's a reason Nike means victory
It's because no one can even compete
Before the battle is started they've already been beat
People who don't wear them
Just haven't realized
that the shoes they wear are inferior
Do their shoes give them the power to jump one thousand feet
Sprint at the speed of light
Make exery shot they take
No
On the torn up field
On the scuffed up court
It doesn't matter
When I wear my Nikes
They make me fly
Around the world
Through white wispy clouds surrounded by beautiful baby blue sky
Across the endless oceans full of green and turquoise churning water and silver jumping fish
Through fields full of long dark green grass
Feeling the wind blow through my face like an angry hurricane
Its like I'm in the flashing streets Hong kong
Nike shoe game is just too strong
Love, Zach
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 7:52 AM UTC
There is this white wall, above which the sky creates itself --
Infinite, green, utterly untouchable.
Angels swim in it, and the stars, in indifference also.
They are my medium.
The sun dissolves on this wall, bleeding its lights.
A grey wall now, clawed and ******
Is there no way out of the mind?
Steps at my back spiral into a well.
There are no trees or birds in this world,
There is only sourness.
This red wall winces continually:
A red fist, opening and closing,
Two grey, papery bags --
This is what i am made of, this, and a terror
Of being wheeled off under crosses and rain of pieties.
On a black wall, unidentifiable birds
Swivel their heads and cry.
There is no talk of immorality amoun these!
Cold blanks approach us:
They move in a hurry.
4.2k
The word is evil
yet the feeling is sweet.
Revenge is something we all want
no one can disagree,
though i never thought i ever would.
Love, peace, smile, happiness is what i used to think..
i wanted to be the sweetness like in the movies
the princess who are ever so kind,
in the end they get everything they dream of!
...but that's not what life's about now is it,
we all know its about this one, simple word,
Revenge...
Well of course i have met some nice people in my life
not everyone can be considered bad as most,
but some people just drive you insane!
to the point that you just want to...
get revenge of course.
Yes i do believe the action is just as evil as the word but
we all need to have a bit of fun every now and again
and im sure everyone can agree on that.
I mean what better way is to see the sourness,
the betrayal, the hurt! on your enemies face...
or friends, but you know most friends are enemies.
Trust no one! that's what i say
because everyone wants it...
they all want revenge...
Mar 3, 2011
Mar 3, 2011 at 3:48 AM UTC
Every so often children throwing tantrums
Catch parent faces, bracing fallen sourness
Where outlines wrinkle rosy outlook sadly
Raisins having pits
Logan Robertson
1/16/2019
Jan 16, 2019
Jan 16, 2019 at 8:07 PM UTC
Let me take you out to lunch
Mrs Bryce said
(she was a middle aged dame
old enough to be his aunt)
o.k if you like
he said
but her friend Lilly
didn't like the idea
(some jealousy
of the lesbian kind
maybe he later thought)
and was quite reserved
as they went to
the posh upstairs restaurant
he one side
and they opposite
Lilly giving him
the cool stare
her pinched mouth
wrinkled forehead
Mrs Bryce studied
the menu
her glasses on
her eyes focused
what you having Lilly?
she asked
and Lilly scanned
her menu and picked out
something in French
and then she asked him
and he said
o the stew will do
and the waitress came
and took their orders
and went off
wagging her behind
which he noticed
but they didn't
being that part
sexually blind
and then came
the small talk
the casual chat
or this and that
and Lilly straight faced
thin lipped
and icy eyes stare
but he knew
what Lilly didn't
she had no idea
about the ***
or how the middle aged
dame had it still
could still turn on the fire
could **** off his desire
but Mrs Bryce
never said a word
not a hint
she wore her middle age
and middle class morals
very well
a mask of gentility
or cultured good humour
good manners on show
but he knew
she was hot
and could go
(her husband
some middle aged guy
with sourness
and boredness
in each greying eye)
and she sat there
giving it the small talk
sipping the wine
one finger raised
her eyes pure
as cut glass
behind the specs
and Lilly listened
in soft admiration
wanting to be nearer
breathing in
Mrs Bryce's scent
dreaming of the two of them
doing whatever in
some bedroom spent
but he had the real
not a dream
and as he watched
Mrs Bryce sipping
her wine
thin lips
on thin glass
he remembered her
that time lying there
bright eyes
greying but dyed hair
he bringing her
to a seventh heaven
of yes and yes
and more
and Lilly sour faced
sitting and listening
to the small talk
but wanting
something other
for sure.
Nov 22, 2013
Nov 22, 2013 at 7:10 AM UTC
Sorry mom I couldn’t be
The child prodigy
You always wanted
Me to be
Sorry dad I couldn’t be
The most intellectual
Of them all like you imagined
Me to be
I couldn’t be the dutiful
Trophy daughter
You always wanted
Forgive me Papa
Though I know not whose
Fault is the sourness
That dwells between us
Maybe, it is the fact,
That you wanted me to
Stand out in the crowd
And I chose to sink
Deep in the ocean.
~Manu M.
Jun 21, 2015
Jun 21, 2015 at 5:11 AM UTC
Friendship
It looks like the beautiful multiple colors of a double rainbow
That emerges from the sky after a rainy day
But it also looks like a huge flame of fire engulfing your body and burning it up
As your skin sizzles and starts to melt away
It smells like the sweet scent of lavender
That calms you like it should
But it also smells like nasty, spoiled, rotten eggs
That no one wants to go near
It feels like you are bonded by an imaginary leash
That can never be broken
But it also feels like you are getting stabbed with a knife
Over and over again and the pain won’t stop
It taste like sugar sweetness
That can never be bad and makes your heart sing
But it also tastes like the bitter sourness
Of a lemon that makes you scrunch your face in disgust
It sounds like a sweet little bird
Chirping on a warm sunny day
But it also sounds like the angry roar of a fierce lion
That is loud as thunder and shakes the ground
Friendship it goes one of two ways
It’s good or bad, happy or sad
It is friendship
Nov 19, 2013
Nov 19, 2013 at 6:30 PM UTC
'Life is but a dream,' I question the value of it;
at the edge of life, the edge of time, the edge of our reality;
at the edge of this cliff, we edge ourselves to a falling death.
But what if the fall to our death is like a dream—falling into
a hole, gaining speed close to it's undersurface? We'd wake
up before we hit the ground.
But would I wake up in a cold sweat; or in tears, of longing to
find what lies in the somber of a deep hole? Maybe my soul?
Haha; it's outline must of been shaped by the mind's many dreams,
my child. For what good was it; in the spirit ties of it being lost in the world? A world at times that doesn't feel as real:
_but just a life of a dream._
So by this edge, clutched by the winds of background; hold your
breath before you and I jump. Time may, or may not slow in the
plunge to the valley's undersurface. Still perhaps, this all could be
a dream, and we'll both wake up before we hit the bottom.
Surely it must be, because I don't know a reality to be as brave
to commit such an act. Why pinch yourself, when you've been
pinched by pillars of salt in life—sourness and bitterness?
Oh my inner child, life is but a dream:
and soon we'll both wake up from it.
Jun 26, 2022
Jun 26, 2022 at 12:06 AM UTC
I doubt,
Therefore, I think
Therefore, I am.
I see.
I take in the colours around me.
The patterns, the lights, the rainbow.
I see the night, and the stars that glow.
I dream.
Therefore, I think.
Therefore, I am.
I smell.
The perfumes, the roses.
The stench, the rotten, the putrid.
The aromas, cooking.
The green, the forest, the trees.
I inhale,
Therefore, I think.
Therefore, I am.
I hear.
The noises. The people, the cheer.
The wails, the screams, the tears.
The rejoicing and happiness.
I hear.
Therefore, I think.
Therefore, I am.
I taste.
The sweetness, the fire.
The treats and savoury delights.
The sourness, the bitterness.
I eat,
Therefore, I think.
Therefore, I am.
I speak.
Short messages. Long speeches.
Quiet whispers. Bellowing noises.
I scream,
Therefore, I think,
Therefore, I am.
I feel.
The despair, the fear, the anguish.
The joy. The pride. The seething.
The envy, greed, and jealousy.
The cold, the heat, the shivering.
The pain, the sickness, the ageing.
I die.
Therefore, I lived.
Therefore, I was.
Dec 28, 2018
Dec 28, 2018 at 6:32 PM UTC
you tasted like lemons,
although that's my favorite flavor,
the sourness should've been a warning
Jun 7, 2016
Jun 7, 2016 at 10:31 PM UTC
So what if I have squint
Or money I don’t mint
I know my eyes blink a lot
Or most of the tasks I just forgot
What is the matter if I am a buffoon
Or my life is much more doomed
I know I hue and cry
Or talking to chicks I’m a bit too shy
To those who understand
I extend my hand
To the doubtful I demand
take me as I am
not under your control
I know where I stand
Won’t change to suit your plan
Take me as I am
From childhood I did what you said
From waking up to going to bed
I am sorry I missed that one mark for DU'
Now don’t look down at me in dread
I deserve that seat more than that OBC" guy
Or the seat that rich dad did buy
Sorry I could not prove your expectation
Courses are full, don’t worry ill do animation
I’m facing blasphemies of life
I’ll write satires on Modi or the wife
To those who understand
I extend my hand
To the doubtful I demand
take me as I am
not under your control
I know where I stand
Won’t change to suit your plan
Take me as I am
Sitting in the dark I forget,
Sweetness, sourness is all I get
Everyday having the bitter pills of fate
Missing the time we chatted till late
We bunked periods to find solitary places to sit
You asked me to love you and I did
Traded my emotions for a counteract to commit
Now you know my faults and have gone so far
Your confessions in my name
Now just give you fame
What all we dreamt now and then
Now you have got someone to blame
To those who understand
I extend my hand
To the doubtful I demand
take me as I am
not under your control
I know where I stand
Won’t change to suit your plan
Take me as I am
I keep my secrets in my skin
What all I did with innocence and ignorance
Now dealing with my sins
What all is left of me is in a cage
To protect death from dying from my carnage
I have done much, don’t expect anything from my life
Let me be me, done enough truce and strife
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 3:59 AM UTC
A quiet kid,
lonely in the rain,
fingers the nickels and pennies
in his pockets, waiting for the bus
to splash around the corner,
so he can get to work.
He lives with a demon of a roommate,
and shares snores with the roaches,
Bathing in the shower of their incontinence.
After college, he lost it and wrecked his mind
in a haze of liquor so foggy it
swallowed the moon for awhile.
He stumbles through pitch black nights
with an ugly soul and redemption on his mind;
The worst kind of late night wanderer.
Coffee and sugar keep him alive--
just like war and famine are the black angel's wives--
bringing him back into this liquid reality.
In the mornings he breathes in this world,
totally sober.
It tastes like sourness
and the milk of ***** entrapped in blue jeans
in 100 degree weather
all day.
It was the worst kind of sobriety.
All the horrors of birth.
He lives many lives:
One for his mother,
where he plants fruitless kisses
on her cheeks.
Little wreaths of future disappointment.
She hugs him so warmly.
It makes him want to suckle his .45.
One for work,
all smiles
and plumb submission.
9-5.
5-2.
12-9.
6-3.
4-12.
And if he's lucky
12-4 on saturdays.
All this in 5 dollar clothes
and a rumplestiltskin attitude;
trying to weave his own ugliness
into truth.
One for his girl,
the one who'd hurl her tongue at Appollo,
puke up her month's sugar intake,
and curl her fingers so tight that she cut the cappillaries,
making a red and white fist like a christmas cinnabon:
If he ever told her who he really was.
His love for her is secret.
One life for himself,
to keep the mirror happy.
This kid.
He's all or nothing.
Nov 24, 2013
Nov 24, 2013 at 10:54 PM UTC
In my garden, feral and overgrown,
I bear with branchings of the apple,
Hunched and grey, laden with fallow
Fruits, the tired, knottted fingers die
Each year, under which are baubles
Of sourness and stray, poorly drawn
Circles of fodder even hungry deer
Will not graze upon. The elder tree
Slowly casts itself into Bonsai stone.
Down a valley, in the grades of sun,
Lay a stand of madrones in redden
Fire, with deepest eyes of burnished
Green leaves, some immortal Gorgon
So beauteous, in form and branches
Divine, of Olympian flame, held, atop
Heavenly escarpments by the loving
Skies. I see it for what it is, my love,
Your body and hair, so tawny, so fair,
Though, ever lost to me but in dream,
Are dearly those red branches, a fable,
Your eyes, green as sea, those leaves.
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 7:32 PM UTC
I so badly want to say it back.
It's on the tip of my tongue but
Memories from before seal my mouth.
They press my lips together to prevent the words from escaping,
Forming a kiss.
Your eyes lock onto my mouth and I know
You won't give in until you taste
The sourness-
Though you mistake it for sweet.
Despite my silence I have said it.
I cannot seem to prevent myself.
I go in for another kiss.
This time I don't need the memories to move
My lips.
There. I said it.
Are you happy?
May 30, 2015
May 30, 2015 at 2:43 PM UTC
The air is damp and fresh,
the scent of new rain perfumes all that surrounds me
and thin mist lingers in the atmosphere.
It caresses my face when I walk through it's path,
a simple, happy path,
like moth's wings on silk, and it no longer stings.
A large oak tree stands tall and mighty, a magnificent display of solidarity -
but not imposing.
It is kind and bare and humble,
and I see that we are both stripped in some way, raw and defrocked.
I touch the last trace of green it possesses,
the last bit of hope and the last reminder that things come back
and that things move forward,
soft moss under the pads of my fingertips, soaked and sponge like,
and just there - clean and true.
I turn up my collar against the wind and tighten the wrap of my coat around me,
still clinging,
but at least I'm shielding myself from the cold.
I'm still allowed to cling just a little, I think. Sometimes we need to cling -
to help us let go.
And anyway, I know that change has arrived at last, no matter how small it is,
because although the only embrace I receive here, aside from the fabric of my coat, is the bitter cold,
I am not bitter.
And this chill does nothing but bring peace,
and somehow warm my heart this time instead of freezing it.
A ruby under the wet russet leaves
is what I see through the remnants of the rain.
Peel away the outer layers so that I can remember what is beautiful.
These colours do not look like blood anymore;
they're a sunset: fading but with a guaranteed return.
Beginnings, endings, departures and returns -
that is an existence.
But a life
is when we look back with both longing and acceptance,
to never forget but never dwell too long
on what has been.
Sweetness, bitterness, sourness:
a weary traveler making his way along a path
with Autumn meadow on one side: tranquility and rest,
and Autumn meadow on the other: Summer is ended and so are you.
I know which side I'm ready to seek now.
For what is taken in Autumn,
is also returned.
And the evidence is in your being on this side of the path with me.
I know - because I see the good things now.
I see only the beautiful colours and the chestnuts and the mercifully short days.
Yes. This Autumn will be different.
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 1:32 PM UTC
In my garden, feral and overgrown,
I bear with branchings of the apple,
Hunched and grey, laden with fallow
Fruits, the tired, knottted fingers die
Each year, under which are baubles
Of sourness and stray, poorly drawn
Circles of fodder even hungry deer
Will not graze upon. The elder tree
Slowly casts itself into Bonsai stone.
Down a valley, in the grades of sun,
Lay a stand of madrones in redden
Fire, with deepest eyes of burnished
Green leaves, some immortal Gorgon
So beauteous, in form and branches
Divine, of Olympian flame, held, atop
Heavenly escarpments by the loving
Skies. I see it for what it is, my love,
Your body and hair, so tawny, so fair,
Though, ever lost to me but in dream,
Are dearly those red branches, a fable,
Your eyes, green as sea, those leaves.
Aug 8, 2012
Aug 8, 2012 at 11:37 AM UTC
When life gives you lemons,
You squeeze them in your eyes,
You don't think twice, regret
Or get to question why.
For it is written in fate
For it is how it is to be,
You don't get to choose it ,
And you don't get to cry.
You'll fight it, hate it, neglect it and whine,
You'll curse it, resist it, run from it and hide.
But it'll catch you one way or the other,
It's better if it catches you this way than the other.
For it stings like a bee,
Then pains like a wound
And you may think you are enough to take it,
Before it comes back and bites you in the moon.
One shot, two shot, three shot, four
Glasses become empty but the lemons keep coming more.
It's no fun with the acidic
Sourness creeping into my soul.
Yet it keeps coming more, more
And more...
Call it fate,
Call it luck,
Call it magic,
Whatever you must,
It is easier to blame others
Than to put myself under the bus.
A screw-up here,
A ****** there,
One by one my life has scattered everywhere.
So I take these lemons that life owes
And the ones that I already own,
Trying hard not to put them all in my drink,
Days go by but it feels like a blink,
Maybe I do down them all
Maybe that's become my thing.
But hey, I don't whine about it anymore,
Or fight it, hate it or neglect it
Life keeps changing erratically,
This is the truth, this is my new reality.
Sep 29, 2016
Sep 29, 2016 at 2:01 PM UTC
*
*
~
I am a cynic and
a romantic at heart.
My skin hardened by experience
My heart fearful of pain and trust.
Many have tried to peel away
my doubts and fears and
try to add colour to my
truth.
My truth is my reality.
And with that, no one can
hurt me.
So stop.
Please stop.
Don't look at me with
eyes fascinated, eyes with
pity, eyes of doubt.
My heart's afraid
and my mind's so
convicted.
You taste sweetness
from my sourness
and still...
you
think you can
heal me...?
~
*
*
Oct 14, 2018
Oct 14, 2018 at 1:40 PM UTC
Sweet n' sour is the taste you get when you drink lemonade,
Sweet n' sour is the taste you get when you eat Sour Patch Kids,
Sweet n' sour is the feeling you get when you think someone is telling you the truth,
Then you find out that they aren't,
But somewhere in between the sweetness,
And the sourness of it all,
You find the happy medium,
Not sweet,
Not sour,
Just somewhere in between,
Kind of like the color grey.
Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 5:23 PM UTC
My sweater smells like cigarette smoke.
When I got out of the shower
I put it back on.
It's funny how things evolve.
That scent used to mean cold nights
And neon lights,
A crowd of people full of piercings and my dad's silhouette ahead
Pushing through the crowds on St. Marks,
Lungs full of thick second-hand soot,
Heart full of excitement and love for my city.
It was a tunnel of smoke I had to get through fast,
And I would hold my breath that entire street,
Not wanting the burn of it in my mouth.
As I got older it also started to mean
That my best friend had found a new way to hate herself.
I noticed a sourness to it,
Something that hurt my throat,
Like the feeling right before you cry.
I never did like cigarette smoke.
To me it meant
A gruesome marriage of death and the desire to die,
A fuck-you to a world whose clarity amazed me.
I never liked cigarette smoke.
And then I met you.
And now here I am, with a bit of it clinging to my sweater,
Comforted by burying my face in the soft fabric
Because the fragrance reminds me of you.
Funny, how things can change so completely.
Whenever I smell smoke, now, I think of you,
And I have noticed that the scent itself has changed
Into a richer one, like incense.
It's funny what loving someone can do,
Huh?
Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 11:27 PM UTC
Talk to me
Talk to me about half-finished journals and empty theaters
Talk to me about the calluses on the soles of your feet
Do you think they look like art?
Talk to me about the bobby pins stuck between the sheets of your bed
Talk to me about the broken doorbell in your childhood house
Why have you never gotten it fixed?
Do you think it says a lot about your family?
Do you think it’s a metaphor for your parents’ relationship?
Talk to me about the ghosts in your head
I wanna see if they look like mine
If they were friends in some past, unfulfilled life
Talk to me about kites
Talk to me about knee high socks
What do they remind you of?
Talk to me about spilled lemonade
Does the sourness still linger on your tongue
Long after the mess as been mopped up?
Talk to me about your 10th grade English teacher
Do you resent her blatant favouritism?
Do you wonder why she didn’t like you the best?
Do you ever wonder why
It seems like nobody likes you the best?
Talk to me about the peonies in the garbage chute
Talk to me about untied shoelaces
And an 8 year old’s skinned knees
Talk to me about slippery floors
Talk to me about illegal downloads
Talk to me about Tarsiers
Talk to me about oil pastels
Do you prefer them over any other art medium
Because they are dirtier, messier and more difficult to work with it?
Talk to me about recycling
Do you think it’s pointless?
Or do you think it’s gonna make a significant difference?
Talk to me about Broadway musicals
Talk to me about Hercules
Have you ever dreamed of being immortalized
Through the whispering of the stars?
Talk to me about god
Do you think god made man
Or did man make god?
Talk to me about clay pots
Talk to me about cacti
Talk to me about the color grey
Talk to me about plastic balloons
When did you learn that the art of letting go
Is closely intertwined with the tragedy of loss?
Talk to me about films
Talk to me about knuckles
What do you tell your grandmother
When she asks why they are bruised and wounded?
Talk to me about Geishas
Talk to me about roadtrips
And that one time when you were 15
And you drove away in your older brother’s car
Feeling young and reckless and so so alive
Talk to me about pain
Every stabbing hurt
Every mouth filled with blood
Talk to me about joy
Both the abundance and the lack of it
Talk to me about love
And warmth
And light
And the sound of coming home
Talk to me
Write your life’s story on torn Christmas wrappers
And I will hold them in my hands like sacred beads of prayer
Talk to me
Open the cracks of your spine and engulf me in the shade of your eyes
Talk to me
Let me in
Dec 29, 2014
Dec 29, 2014 at 5:19 AM UTC
Only yesterday that your glass blew
The flame was burning untouchable
The disk spinning fast, un-reversible
No home in a town so inhospitable
A world where questions are daft
Drafted to unravel an inbuilt psyche
I stand out in the jungle countryside
Strumming listening to “wild world”
Each rhythm a wavy walk on a path
Steps and strolls always sidetracked
The poppy field faded in sheen redness
When it turned cold and bled sourness
It was me who was left by the riverside
I sat by the bank and dreamed away
Then viewed my mirrored reflection
Melted in indecisions and intricacies
Extreme ongoing cognition appraisals
Silenced in the sound of the stillness
The flash of the grassed field called me
Embraced me as I paraded on the verge
A resolving embrace of a stab erased
I plead not to be understood or wanted
For these riffles are fixated on our heads
Bolted in our thoughts, wants and desires
Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 9:30 AM UTC