Saturday, October 25, 2008
the poet is dull-witted
She tried to hold her eyes to tear
But her heart already cried
She knew thinking of him
She'd never be done
She saw his eyes
and got lost in its depth
Feeling never better
when it was her worst
No poet like her
Trying to seduce the words
when they were unspoken
Trying to cut the imagination
when it was real
When would she be done?
She was there
He was there
No uttered words the poet spoke
She pens her words now
Putting her tears
on the place she dwells
But again
the words are torn
by the broken tears
No uttered words the poet speaks
Only waiting
until the sweet dream
takes her away
But her heart already cried
She knew thinking of him
She'd never be done
She saw his eyes
and got lost in its depth
Feeling never better
when it was her worst
No poet like her
Trying to seduce the words
when they were unspoken
Trying to cut the imagination
when it was real
When would she be done?
She was there
He was there
No uttered words the poet spoke
She pens her words now
Putting her tears
on the place she dwells
But again
the words are torn
by the broken tears
No uttered words the poet speaks
Only waiting
until the sweet dream
takes her away
Labels: idle streaks, poems
by mELaa o.O~ at 11:03 PM :)
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