I miss my poems
And the irreversible cries of me
The twirl and adventures and the wild I could be.
And I hate that rhyme
And I miss my friends
As if I had any to begin with
And I'd cringe at my typos
And stare wistfully at the lies of TV
Knowing that life packs a punch more
Pungent than the smell of romance
I need certain high
To get the growth flowing
Not weed or LSD
Just a need to feel amongst the stars
And the rest.
I get caught within a shot that everyone watches, Yet no one can see.
Dead of night
Might be the end of road
At least that's how sober goes
Who'd have thought I wasnt talking about drugs?
To be apart of a family that lends a cosmic inspiration
To be not dysfunctional nor visible to the gravity that gives a visual,
Insight to the blurred ground
Or unsure skies
At least this is what we think to let the tommorow pass by.
But what happens when
We've let to much go ?
Are we still one
A person functioning and whole?
To give in to the disturbance
That the colors of vibrations sounds
There is an innocence and peace found
Between the wedges of adolescence and, Traquility of better youth.
Where I wish to be bound
Or do I still hope for an existence already gone?
Why do I still yearn the inpossible?
Can mermaids not dance ?
And dragons still bawl?
Not that I wish I can have it all
As the kings and the knights
Would in the presence of the dukes and the peasants.
I am all and naught
Physical with ethereal intelligence.
If I proceed to read all the
Words I've shared with myself
I wouldn't believe that I am a sane person.
But for the sake of appearance and the Ballard that secrets ho.ld.
I'd give this one to the praise of imagination.
