Dark Poetry #1 |
In This City |
SpitFire Member Elite
since 2000-04-19
Posts 2396 |
In This City Sounds of laughter float through the streets plastic clothes and made up faces trampling concrete jungles in the city you all walk flying arms lifting me above the crowd this night hopeless,...homeless beg for some of your plastic some of your make up some of your high streets of selections music of your choice camels for a survey stamped hand in a sort of cultish,.. you're in thing tests of your ability,..at the door in this night backpacks and heavenly smiles bodies thumping from the beat it's too hard to sit still here in these plastic clothes these made up faces in this city,......in this night. *This is kinda lame,...it's just me remembering my night last night. And these are things that I observe when I go out. . |
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© Copyright 2000 SpitFire - All Rights Reserved | |||
isiskate81 Junior Member
since 2000-04-14
Posts 31 |
thats a good poem its not lame. Its good observations. I liked it. Your a get poet. |
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JOY 14 Senior Member
since 1999-09-22
Posts 1419Wisconsin USA |
I agree. Not lame at all. I liked how you used your observations and put them all together (well I might add) to form this poem. Joy |
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Joel the wolf Senior Member
since 2000-04-06
Posts 1333Angels Camp |
What are poems but the observation of our spirits, bodes, minds, and all surroundings. This isn't a lame poem, put it in your archives and look back on it in a hundred years, you will be able to go back to the very night with this poem, So not lame!!! thanks for ?? having me with your night out. haha... Joel. I howl a mournful song, that echos within my chambered heart, for all to read? nay for all to feel. |
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Swåmp¤Faerÿie Member
since 2000-03-29
Posts 358Illinois |
SpitFire,this is what i see when I go out!! We must live in the same city. They're all like robots.....trudging along behind radioactive masks of plastic that cover up the people and the feelings....like blurrs....Strange isn't it??¿ Great poem...i love the expressions you use...... swamp And there she weaves by night and day, a magic web of colours gay.~Tennyson |
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