I can see the rocky mountains,
from here i can see,
those big dark skies,
and the endless sea.
Breathing in the fragrance of lavenders,
I can see the dark sky of thunders.
My heart wants to trek up that little red hill;
I want that weird satisfying thrill.
From up there i can see the tiny town in the distant,
houses smaller than my toe nail look non-existent.
I see the crows hurrying to their nests;
the trees sure have a lot of room for their guests.
The sea behind me is raging,
but the violent view is pretty engaging.
I frowned, but that doesn't explain the lavender smell,
I look at my hand and it rings a bell.
The fisherman's little boy near the coast
was actually the sweetest host.
I smiled at the bunch of flowers I got,
I wondered from where he brought.
I looked up hearing a cracking sound;
a drop hit my cheek before it could reach the ground.
Buckets and buckets started pouring down,
the mountains suddenly turned green from brown.
The land below me was now lush with grass,
my foot slipped as I walked, alas.
I tumbled down the hill, I kept rolling,
my head kept spinning, I kept growling.
Until i finally couldn't see anymore,
sleeping in my bloody mess lying limp ashore.
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Thoughts of a Juvenile
PoetryWords are sharper than knife they say. Yes it is true. Some perfectly moulded good words can both make and break a heart easily. A poem is a group of such perfectly moulded words given wings to fly. They fly through the mind and heart easily. A hob...
