The flag rides high on the flagpole of life we all suffer strife now and then but in the end it all turns out to be true that you are my worstest friend with child like imagery i see that the grass is green i cannot escape the wait in this room as you mumble something to me. flutter pigeon flutter dove it's all just a mystery to me. an imperfect taste of life is what we are dealt it is ours to make the best of. a sea of fish living on a feast of flesh by the concrete shoed mobsters at the bottom. a small crystal dangles above the mist is cleared from your picture. you see that the meaning is contrary to the popular belief I laid waste to. you struggle with ideas that aren't so clear that you may wish upon the star of a kingdom that was born into blood and vengence.A crack in the window shows you the way to the frame the window just wants to be useful. but you take it away and change it that day this is what we are used to. Though nothing it seems it may mean so much.These nonsensical ramblings of a mad man.Are the future of home down a long forgotten road that winds the corner and goes where nobody knows. A red sun rising the moon causes tidings.an omen of frivolous genetics.A sorry tale of mushroom trees that scale the inner city. the end.
Reason for writing:
read your own meaning into it.
Birth sign: Leo
You need to log in to edit this poem if it is yours.
View more poems by slim twit.