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Open Poetry #46

Shall we spin us a tale

N|D|N|C|Lost-Poet
Member

since 2009-07-30

Posts 360
New Orleans

0 posted 2010-12-03 01:24 AM

I can't sing a key, and can't play a thing,
But I can write you a poem with a thousand lines.
A thousand pauses.
A thousand rhymes.
Which you could read over just about a thousand times.
I call it borrowing- You call it copyright and a thousand crimes.
Well,
I can't help to love your delicate beauty,
Doe eyes,
Oh- how the butterflies fill me,
In me,
Poetry,
So epic that it crawls across my skin,
Like a wall,
This flag around my wrist,
Pants ironed by the shin to a crisp,
And,
Oh- if only you could see past my mean glare,
This,
Oh. So. Mean. Glare.

“Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them.” -Henry David Thoreau

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