When I leave my imagination
I am frozen,
In the windchill
Of the lackluster.
I don't feel like dancing.
The heel click hop
Of youth,
Is sing-songless.
YOU ARE READING
Scribblings
PoesíaWords arranged in a funny order. Poems about my view of reality and how my inner fantasy world colours it with strange tinges. I love discussions about concepts and ideas so please feel free to comment. © 2018 Brian Lynch
