People like me
Write letters to themselves.
Sometimes on a lonely night,
After a couple of glasses
Of crisp white wine,
I post them home,
Rolling the parchment
Into a little scroll,
And tying it to the
Foot of my pigeon,
Freeing it from its cage.
But it flies back to me,
For outside is the
World's cruel reality.
So we create a world
Of our own: sweet, unreal,
Untainted by the evil of
The two legged humans.
Schizophrenic,
That's what people in white coats call me.
But I am only a poet,
Am I not?
~azmina
DU LIEST GERADE
Of Floating Buoys and Broken Bells
Poesie"Poetry flowed like little rivulets From the ocean that was her soul." ~azmina Our souls dance to the rhythm of poetry. A small collection of my poems that will, hopefully, provide the beats to your dance.
