Open a book, and there it is
The salty spray, colorful fish.
The creaky boards underfoot
The crackly, worn leather boots.
The white, torn and saddened sails
The freeing smell of the gales.
Turn the page, and yet again,
Up ahead, a bear's den.
There, o'er yonder, the sun is setting
Nothing beautifuller, that I'm betting.
The wind rustles through the trees
I fall asleep to the hum of the bees.
Yet again, in another chapter,
There you are in the city's chatter.
Lights ashine, and broadway's alight
No stars up ahead in the dark night.
But then again, who needs the little glow
From the stars above when we see the below?
YOU ARE READING
Where We Never Look--The Forgotten Places
PoetryThis is a Poetry Book that I've been working on for almost a year. I write random poems when I'm inspired, so I hope you enjoy! #825 in Poetry November 24, 2016 #351 in Poetry November 26, 2016 (!!!!!!) #350 in Poetry November 29, 2016 #284 in Poetr...
