I'm coming back again.
With beliefs that are all my own.
But until then,
I will have to become grown.
Drifting through time.
My voice cannot be heard.
It is as if I were a mime.
I was cast out from the herd.
Only time will heal wounds,
But they will leave scars.
Do I feel the wind?
Do I see the stars?
The wind shows that time flows.
Every star is a soul.
They are as beautiful as a rose.
They only have one role.
They remind me I'm on a mission.
There is something I must do.
I am the ignition.
What I'll do can only be done by few.
But I don't have too long.
Running to the beat.
Before the ringing of the gong,
My task must be complete.
The land will crack.
The waters split.
It makes things hard to track.
So my lantern will be lit.
Light the way.
So I can see.
At night at the bay,
I listen to their plea.
Begging for my help.
I cannot do much.
I hear the yelp.
But I cannot do such.
I'm on my own clock.
To save my own world.
Unsettling the rock
To keep my own world unfurled.
I'm searching and searching.
Trying to find the pieces.
I'm running and running.
So I can stop the creases.
My world is folding.
Turning into something.
It continues it's molding.
Until I will have nothing.
I have to be faster.
Before my world can end.
With my skills of a master.
I must halt the death angels as they descend.
Every memory.
Emanating from the luminescence.
Before I lose history.
Time is of the essence.
YOU ARE READING
The Pathetic Poet
PoetryAll of my original poems. A rare insight to my whimsical mind. If found anywhere else without my notice, I will report. New entries to be added when they are to be added.