My Only Metaphor
As a boy I was never a fan of metaphors,
not a fan of the vague and abstract,
not a fan of the "body and soul".
A world beyond ours,
a world within worlds in objects,
a world to only exist in worlds' woes,
a world too rarely found in smiles and balloons.
They are pretty, they are beautiful,
they are lovely, they are meaningful,
pretty please, you say, love the meaning objects weren't born to.
But they are scary.
Scary how, you ask?
They find bonds in the loneliest things, in the loneliest people,
but I'm afraid they aren't here to stay.
Fleeting,
the meanings like doves fly away to the next best pretty thing,
forgetting the little pretty daisy dancing in the wind.
I'm sorry, I think I'm overthinking.
Green Day, I agree, maybe I am one of those melodramatic fools.
YOU ARE READING
No one Gives a Damn
PoetryPoems I have written about feelings and things no one probably gives a damn about. I'm on Facebook as The Writer. (Nevermind, no one gives a damn anyway)
