Meet an artist in mall,
Say the fine words,
There's the game begin to fall,
Note it's no joke at all,
It's the power of words that's all,
This life is we have got as all,
Standing with figure tall,
Wearing a feather shawl,
Thinking of world as a whole,
Got the edges on one stall,
Men selling the toys to get away from hell,
As if someone's had been selling poverty in that hell,
Thought changing of world first of all,
But was trapped in the four walls.
That was just a part of shallow soul,
The experience was strangest of all,
Like the way I am writing words which make no sense at all,
Still it make some sense from it all,
Maybe by rhythming the phrases of tale,
Like some scattered piece attached in the wall,
In a same way just the way this life is,
Full of empty halls and hollow walls,
Like that artist in a mall,
Losing itself in a surrounding stroll.
YOU ARE READING
The Mad People's Dorm
Poetry"Mad People's Dorm" is a heartfelt collection of poetry that takes you deep into the emotions and thoughts of someone battling anxiety, betrayal, and inner turmoil. Each poem is a window into a mind that has faced darkness and is striving to find li...
