#4 of Poems
Something I made during the Week Before Christmas.
Seven islands, an archipelago.
Rivers run through each, carving them.
Currents crash against them.
A raging storm, a free spirit.
A solid mountain, a willow tree.
A tortoise, and a bull.
There is a lone wolf.
Earthquakes happen, and volcanoes erupt.
Tribes are fighting.
Different ideals, different views.
A window to peer through.
A swing to sit on.
The world turns, and so do we.
trapped feelings of anger can't get out no one to shout at nothing to shout at he wants to see her again but it's dark he can see a dim light above maybe she's out there maybe she's down here his thirst to explore is to...
I hear you But You're never really there The farther away the light is The dimmer it looks Like a star In the sky Unattainable And warm And bright So reach for the sky Feel the wind blowing up there Grab a wish and blow it away Like seeds...
Dreams Are Weird For. A place, so va s t We. Keep, it. Small it's like, we dont care. About~ this park, or our house. Which ever we prefer. Don't like. White picket fen-ces Or ro-oms, or doors. We separate, and rearrange its...