Poem

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic


:D

Submitted: March 26, 2018

A A A | A A A

Submitted: March 26, 2018

A A A

A A A


Frequently, I feel

 a dreadful unsatisfactory,

where no one can save me , all for except myself,

as I grow taller and taller,

stretched out, 

until this tender affect of my accomplishments,

become more boring,

  pulled down;

by the weight of someone else story.

 

Then, I shrink down

to size of a small tear in some miniscule heart,

while I watch the burden of my battery,

drain out into the sea of where everything acidic powerfully starts;

an ocean of madness that keeps calm in the calamity of this peacefulness,

under a howling moon,

pulling the tide of its gravity into existence

inspiring  to seek a new creativity.

 

As I walk away from this earthly poker table of daylight,

swimming in this dissolving gamble of  words,

 laying down my cards with nothing left,

all I have saved up into one chance,

 one shoulder carried poker chip,

I fold my four aces, and two kings,

because I'd rather dance,

than sing.

 

We love in silence,

as the sound of our hushed voice,

makes a violent tool.

 

 

 

 

 


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