Sentimental

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
dream, life, work, tiredness

Submitted: August 10, 2010

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Submitted: August 10, 2010

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Sentimental
Haze. Diminutive sprinkles in the air, on the grass, on the shrubbery.
Flowers in the garden greet the nine thirty in the morning with the sleepy eyes
Slowly dripping sour sent from the half opened petals.
Their tears brew with the steaming mist in the atmosphere.
“Clouds?” It is no clouds. They are pure stretch of baby blue.
“Birds and insects?” It is no sound of them either. They still burrowed in the beds of dreams and unhurried ambitions.
It is quiet, spooky quiet in the subdivision of many homes,
As if the Life itself has no idea how to rise the day.
“Unusual Sunday!” My walking sneaker paused on the porch.
“Did the World die?
Am I only to survive? Am I a permitted witness to the natures’ riot? 
Why then I don’t feel the fear, rather wish to lose the damn shoes and run, and run on the mounting dews.
Maybe here is no time or distance and only happy obsession over the splendor”
 I though urgently pulling out
From sock my never naked to the ground toes.
“I can let go, I can be free and lost forever in the World of sleepy aspirations!”
My left foot froze in the air.
“Maybe I died! Maybe I am still in the night, in the bed like the bids and insects I am dreaming about!
No! I fought back. I can let go, I can be free and lost forever in the World of sleepy aspirations!”
My left foot touched the warmth of concreted floors, and arm struggled with the right sock.
“Drrr… Drrr…Drrr…..This party is over!” Abominated truck scorched off the neighbor’s driveway.
“I’ve got you, I’ve got you!” The lawnmower next door finished me down.
I put my bitching toes back in the shoes, desperately wishing to spit out – Lady unlike!
I stepped off the porch. “Then walking it is like I did all my life!” 
 
 


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