My mind warps and bends,
Floats the wind, counts to ten,
Waiting for the end,
Welcome to the Lions den.
Even the sun goes down,
Heroes eventually die,
Horoscopes often lie,
Yet we never ask, why?
Brief rhymes to explain our fortune,
But in the end our lies feel foreign,
Dragging us to this aforementioned foreland,
Three lions looking back for a fourth man.
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Author:
Allysnewworld (
Offline) - Published: November 19th, 2017 20:21
- Comment from author about the poem: The act of writing a poem, as a poem. Does it take a poet to understand? Or just another artist posing..
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 20
Offline)
Comments1
And what is a poet and would I know one if I saw it?
Perhaps it is just a social constructionist but damn I like to spill it all fearlessly on the page!
Got me thinking!
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