0 Four hundredHere we are, again.
The clock ticking the way it always does
My eyes closed, but not inside a dream.
Thoughts, play in motion,
My irregular triangles that
Play only on trampolines, of course.
Trying hard, but remaining nowhere,
To escape the mind gravity, yet
Forced back to the bounce,
Again and again and again.
Though, never, obtuse fun thoughts.
No kangaroos on surfboards.
No street dancing chameleons
No cows trotting the cygnet dance
Just the worry spiders,
In the corner
Always there, spinning, spinning
Poetry by 1LFD
Read 58 times
Written on 2021-08-18 at 05:00
Save as a bookmark (requires login)
Write a comment (requires login)
Send as email (requires login)