You are the sun and the moon, the angels and the demons.
You are the rippling stream in the forest, and the harsh wind of the desolate tundra.
You are the little joys in life and the struggle of getting up in the morning.
However, you are not the grime under fingernails, items at Goodwill, or the hay that floats carelessly in the breeze.
And you are certainly not the pencil shavings...
There's no way you're the pencil shavings...
It may be possible you're the static of the TV,
Maybe even the crumbs that fall off the toast,
But you're not even close to being the CD-Rom's.
And a quick glance in the mirror will show that
You're neither the dried mud nor the tired horse in its stable.
It might interest you to know, speaking of imagery around the world, that
I'm the grime under every fingernail. I am also suicidal thoughts, the last dying breath of innocence, and the lonesome cries of weary souls.
I'm also the tears of the broken and the swords of the fallen.
But don't worry; I'm not the sun or moon. You still are.
You'll always be the sun, and the moon, the angels, and somehow, the Demons.
YOU ARE READING
Random Poems
PoetryThese are some random poems I found in a notebook and I thought, hey, why not share them on here? I ain't got nothing else better to do. So, here you go, some random poems for your entertainment!
