I write the opposite of my moods, so most of my good poems are darker, or somewhat tinged with sadness... but I have some happy ones too... more happy then sad, but hey such is life. My writing is my coping mechanism, so if you think it's bad, i don't care it helps me out. |
Sunlight's pouring through the windows,
Splashes cross her dusty floor...
A field,
Empty of all but us...
Nothing,Nothing
I can think of nothing to say...
Surrounded by the bustle
Happens but once a year...
Give me bliss without ignorance
To hang round my neck...
Pencil taps at the desk,
Ignoring the survey placed before...
He appeared at my window,
Broken and forlorn...
A breath across her neck to no avail
A touch down her spine with no reply...
You may be far gone, flown away on the breeze of 777 winds, but your face still looks to my own from my bedside, and in it I can find all the answers I need. |