On the morn of 14th October 1881
with a light wind that was blowing...
Upon your mossy banks I lay
As dawn gave birth to piercing day...
Inspired by the poem "Repairs" by Andrew...
Tools flood the garage...
The thunder wrang out
And the rain came down...
She still lives on the old place,
in the same house all four of the children were...
You, poet,
with your toes clenched in river mud...
As my tears fall at your feet
You stare at me in disbelief...
Promises are just trinkets of deception ,
cleverly crafted with no hidden exceptions...
Window sill of my life ahead
Drawn upon black parchment...
Why follow the crowd, when you can be unique?
Be yourself and disregard everyone's critique...
There is a girl i liked she was so sweet
and also bright...
I wrote this poem for my brother. i hope one day...
i think about what to say...