So one sits in life.
All around the strife.
From every angle comes life.
Pricking my cushion type strife.
Like missles from far away.
Into my life every day.
Confusion of others ways.
Finds my pin cushion life days.
Conflict from outside fills me.
My cushion of pins like limbs of a tree.
© Copyright 2017 poewhit. All rights reserved.
Comments
I like this very much.
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Thank you
Please check out my latest Poewhit. your comments are always so clever and pleasant to have on my page.
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BEAM ME DOWN MR. SPOCK
quite intresting how long have you written poetry. i have only written it for a few years 2 and a half i think i prefer books
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I started doodling in Viet Nam and have been so ever since on & off. Only needs some GOLD in the cup. The fate of most poets & writers an empty wine cup. When dead, OH - back then etc, etc, etc,
I enjoyed this writing! short but powerful in meaning!
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Thank You
this is a very deep poem and i like your metaphor of the pin cushion as life. it certainly seems that way for me right now. thank you for posting this
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NO PROBLEM -
Just read this again, I enjoyed it still. It is good that you can write more than about Jesub. Are you also Struggling Poewhit? Join the army you said to me. No thanks, not after seeing what it did to my dad.
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War goes have its drawbacks
Read the poem liked the metaphor. My life is like a cheese grater.
Evelyn
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Thank You
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