How many flowers have I seen,
Wilt before the lovely seams,
Of my mind, my stillborn child,
Deaf and blind, screaming and senile.
How many torturous streams I've dreamed,
Echoing, dancing magic beams,
Stretching forth, a dark sunlight,
Dim orange hopeless fires.
Oh when will it end, this dreary,
Waves of incoming scary,
Thoughts and lights and dreams and fights,
And every piece of life?
How many flowers have I seen?
Have I seen, a flower green?
What is green, why do I sing?
What may i recite, what is my plight?
.
.
.
.
And the words they run like faucets,
Screaming endless words and pockets,
Of memories they fill and burst,
Spill and mix in maelstrom joy,
Until it floats the questions blend,
And green is why a joy comprehend,
This nonsense I dont know dont care,
I dont remember why I care.
And that is all I fare.
YOU ARE READING
Often confusing
PoetrySecond part to a muses musings because wattpad has a story limit. . . I mean an enthralling book of stories
