Oh, God, I think I'm breaking,
And the world will not stand still.
The ground beneath me trembling
And I think I'm getting ill.
Nothing to hold onto
As the world is getting older.
Making people's spirits break,
An making hearts grow colder.
Nothing will be left,
And all artists will be crying.
The world has finally won,
Bohemia is dying.
Author notes
Main Entry: bo·he·mia
Pronunciation: bO-'hE-mE-&
Function: noun
Usage: often capitalized
Etymology: translation of French bohème
: a community of bohemians : the world of bohemians
Main Entry: Bo·he·mi·an
Pronunciation: -mE-&n
Function: noun
often not capitalized a : VAGABOND, WANDERER; especially : GYPSY b : a person (as a writer or an artist) living an unconventional life usually in a colony with others
Written December 14th, 2005
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Comments
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Here lies a sad eulogy to Earth and diversity. She cries, left no choice but to devour her children.
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Not sure if this is to be taken lightly as a joke, or seriously as sad. Guess it depends of you are an artist, Behemian or not. Flows well and is easy to read - not sure on the understand part - is this just the beginning or much more?
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Good poem, very nice wording. It's thoughtful and thought - provoking! It has a nice rythm and flow, and lovely descriptive wording. Nice work!
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