I feel like the bird with blue feathers-
Flying without any aim,
Simply singing for the different weathers,
For myself, not for fame.
But people say-
Don't be like it,
Be brighter than the sun rays,
Like the neon light lit.
But ask the bird so quaint,
Isn't it gay?
The little bird doesn't try to be a giant,
And is content with its lay.
So should I be the bird blue feathered,
Or the neon light artificially manufactured?
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YOU ARE READING
In Between Those Two Pages
Poetry"A little too less, tasteless, A little too much, unbearable." Such is salt, and so is life. To the rose I preserved in between those two pages for so long that the pages no longer smell of them. Highest ranking: #44 in poetry as of 08.12.16
