March 15, 2006
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I feel like I have to write a poem
like a tree needs xylem and phloem
Sometimes I want to
More times I have to
I can’t let the Idea flow away
On dawny mornings the sun is grey
Trying to awaken a new born day
The cold is locked outside the panes
And I cuddle ‘tween my blankety manes
Awake! I can’t let this thought go away
Of hills and dales and shady glens
My mind is like a moving lens
That sees above below beside
As heaven opens gates so wide
Another musing I can’t betray
Sometimes I feel I am not free
To or not make my writings be
Because in the end my rejected plea
Means that my prose and verse are me.
So you see?
~Dgi |
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She’s very pretty! And what a lovely poem. And yes I see
My verses are always me. No matter how much I try to get away from it, it’s always about something that has happened to me. Continue…
Comment by Arya — March 19, 2006 @ 6:57 pm
Yeah. I don’t think I’ll ever write another poem like that again. Now I’m just a reflection of depression in a merciless sea.:(
Comment by purify — March 20, 2006 @ 10:54 am