What I Do

I feel so much.

I need to write.

But no words come to mind.



I feel so little.

I still need to write.

Nothing original, seems all words have been written.



Overflow of words, of faces.

I do my best to remember.

Then im empty, nothing left.



Oh, a silly little thing called poetry.

Just to please ourselves, they would say.

But theres so much more they cant see.



What to do, what to do.

I cant keep a hold on myself.
Madness, chaos, poetry is what i do.





Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

bRealTime banner ad on the left side
Site Feedback