She lays there unamused,
A frown upon her face.
She is a dying fuse,
Losing at her race.
She believes that life is only stress,
Waiting to kill,
And the earth is only a mess,
Desiring to spill.
Nobody knows her thoughts,
Only those whom she trusts.
She has alway fought
That little tiny fuss.
Her brain is scattered with light,
A little bit of love,
She can see through the night
With the light from up above.
Her name is unknown,
For she is very far.
She keeps her cover unblown,
For she is The Lone Star.
YOU ARE READING
Vibes
PoetryJust some random poems written by me. These poems are written only for and by myself. Please do not expect any of these to be good; I am only an amateur. These are just some poems I think of off the top of my head. Feel free to post feedback, but pl...
