I sat on the seat,
hearing the beat.
It was not a feat,
but a beating heat.
I strummed the chords,
and banged the rods.
Hit the pots,
and cursed them rot.
It wasn't a curse,
just a burst.
That wasn't a thirst,
but just mere tears.
Jazz nearly bass,
hearing them made me rest.
I am a sass whose obsess,
with the best holding the bass.
The music roll, silky gold.
Spiritual soul, silent slow.
KAMU SEDANG MEMBACA
Poems
PuisiA BAG OF UNRELATED POEMS. A little infatuated with rhyming sounds at the moment, sorry if they don't sound the way, I hear them in my head. I shall mark it complete when I am over my obsession with Haikus and Poems. IF THERE'S A THEME THAT YOU WOULD...
