I walk with the surreal,
Blinded on the streets.
Following their meal,
Spaghetti meet and greets.
Are we blind or ignorant,
Behind our eyes half open.
The fallen belligerent,
Things of not spoken.
Dream a world of light,
Where death itself is dead.
The infinity of tonight.
And every day instead.
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Author:
RSM (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: June 13th, 2025 07:34
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 17
Offline)
Comments2
The poem itself is surreal and take one on a journey through the dark streets of mind's mist. A haunting and lovely write
Sometimes your comments are better then my poems. Lol
Excellent write
Thank you
You're welcome
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