I don't do it.
Sheepish little grins lit upon the ceiling...
Ever flowing, ever changing,
I am the wind...
We walk into the forest
not far just a few feet...
I'm not cute.....I'm beautiful
I'm not smart....I'm brilliant...
Beyond the narrow windows of vastness
Was my field of hopes and dreams...
I said everything is wrong
and she asked me to write about it...
The image of a lighthouse in an eerie peace
of blue water looking cold even when it's warm...
Noise in the night
that likes to keep me up...
People have picked me up
from a dusty shelf...
Behold the seconds ticking away,
while the minutes pass by...
I'm immersed by my own flow,
set within the blond view...
I've been told
My poetry doesn't make a lick of sense...