There's this forest
This forest of trees
These trees of bees
Who work to maintain
With a tight time frame
Of simple things
Turned difficult
And this forest lies forever in dismal
With lies upon lies of rain and drizzle
Shouting questions with each it's own riddle
A puzzle to be exact
That gives me reason to retract
This puzzle of lives
Which leads to more questions
Am I alone in this thought
You seem quite distraught
As if news had been brought
I can't be the only one
To lay down their sword and say they're done
For my sword is different
My sword is special
My sword is a pen
And I regret writing what I have written
There's this forest
This forest of trees
And by forest I mean world
And by trees I mean cities
And by bees I mean people
And these bees need to fly
For if not they will die
Although It's rather difficult to fly when your wings have been cut off
YOU ARE READING
Poems of Mine
PoetryThis is a series of original poems that I wrote so that I could clear my head a bit.
