To Listen to Music While Reading this Poem, just Click Here!
Click Here To add this poem to your "Voting Possibilities" list!
Regulating Substance Dreams fall out of my head. I can't control Life. This tiny match will burn down the shed. There's more to life than this one Man. Falling cotton in the wintertime melts away Leaving no fun filled days like Youth. Saturday nights are restless infamy. Covered cotton-less sheds don't Cry. We sometimes choose not to feel, Hiding from what may linger from the Past. If memories would just digest, I'd swallow the good ones whole, to rid my soul of the Bad. Various pictures tick in my head-clock Reminding me when I've Forgotten. Real is not what the mind paints- Real is more like a dull Pencil. 8-00 |
Additional Notes:
This is not supposed to rhyme. The first two stanzas just happen to fall together. "Head-clock" is sort of a made up word.
Sorry, there are no critiques for this poem in our system... If the poem is older, the critiques have been purged!