The early bird can still make mistakes,
No matter how many worms he's devoured.
Unprecedency is hard to avoid,
Turning five minutes into twelve hours.
No way out; trapped in a circle,
Lost in all familiar scenes.
The door's being answered, I just can't find it,
The road I crave isn't where it should be.
And the freedom of time lures calm,
While a cruel mistress hides in deceit.
Allusion of time plays games with your head,
Ask the bird and he will agree...
-
Author:
Surucipe (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: November 20th, 2017 17:54
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 22
Offline)
Comments1
And you have been playing games with my head reading your poem! I do like it a lot, good writing, very interesting metaphors.
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.