And the frogs sang...

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: June 06, 2018

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Submitted: June 06, 2018

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The wind chills my bones
And the frogs keep me company,
The chairs and tables stay sorrowful,
Dark bindings blinding them from this night's show.
They would have loved it.

Street lights flame the waters, mystifying the scenery.
I could hardly wait...
I always try to run from my post, 
Longing to stay under the stars.
It's worth it.
A hole in the pocket is nothing besides a whole in the heart.

Other sneaky rats avoid the patrols and sleep their lives away in forgotten corners.
They are missing much...
The dark bindings rise against me,
Blown by an unsuspecting gust of reality.

If I close my eyes,
I'm in the magical forest of the magical place that keeps me going.
A few days ago,
I disturbed a feline friend,
And I'm keen on making up for it,
But fate hasn't allowed me yet...

Pieces of rattling plastic make up my leaves,
The sofa, my back against the aged tree,
The wind...
The intoxicating now... and the unknown tomorrow.

I'm running out of ink
And out of heat for the body to keep.
I'm still in my forest,
Where the frogs sing,
The leafs shift,
The wood is strong,
And life is long.

Worn out planks crack upon my steps
And the light is blinding,
The cement is damp and cold
And the door creeks loudly.

I miss it when the frogs sang,
And everything was charming...


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