The recordings are all the wrong things.
Lost things?
They pawned at his fingers.
What lingers beneath, will be bequeathed.
Still it is at the hill.
The mill will drill till the pill will spill.
Belleville-
The unchanged will be prearranged.
Obtained, we've gained.
He'd reined!
Undrained, craned up there.
Too high to come on down.
Your frown will drown them out.
What about the rout?
Callout the account!
Crouched down to the ground.
You've been frowned upon, drowning slowly.
So lonely, so close to me.
He was there to see you.
But.
But?
You were gone.
You'll yawn in the spawn.
He'll want you to be sworn, to the throne.
But the thorn?
Your swans have been taunted,
haunted.
Hauntings.
You'll morn, the adorn.
You were born to have worn that crown.
But the gown was nowhere around, to be found.
They'll bound to be in towns.
Towns with sounds, unheard.
Its absurd.
The third haunting this week?
Speak the technique which is unique.
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Poems by me
PoetryNO COPY RIGHT WHAT SO EVER I for one, have been in love with writing poetry since I was younger, I just could never seem to get what I need to feel to say. I've recently written some new poems and I'm deciding if I should post them or not. What do...
