that was what we called for when we signed our hearts blessings, and we gave our homes funding. in a gentle breeze, that was created by the words of a thousand dreams. if they drip from your head-they should be dreams, and we are not responsible for our own nightmares.
into our bowls that have silver spoons, and golden sides, though they bend when you touch them because gold is soft. and those were the flowers that rested on your head as you slept, smiling. smiling at you.
long since forgotten I said, when my buttercups jumped out of their pots. go back! you have to go back, but of the things I said, they listened to none. and waddled off down a paper filled street, that was disgraced with skidmarks, backpedaling away from those who lived in joy. because suddenly it's "wrong" to be happy.
though I could suppose, and comment, and mention that a long line of people waiting to be happy. a year to the door and another to get settled, yet they do...they do. and they look down at the paperwork-they must sign only their name, only your name kind sir, be on your way.
since that had been settled quickly I walked away. I have far too many things to hand out to stop. I must make sure everyone signs the paperwork.
YOU ARE READING
Part the World
Poetrythey called him a child and disordered for wanting to get out a series of poems meant to bridge the gap between the night sky and the blue ocean. from many people who have seen both and are hoping to change the entire world with words alone. they s...
