Suburban Dreams become schemes
I mix ingredients in boiling pot of emotion
somebody asked what can be the real me
But after much searching silence stood
Butterflies released Kama delusions
And it was then words formed a lost reality
Evidence of willpower runs in the family
and I was considered the black sheep
It was my perchance to plot verse imagery
But the mysteries of inner self hid still
Seas of calm solace spoke in washed sand
The whole journey was on rocks so planned
Eagles soar high on freedoms will to exist
And deep valleys drink green cool-aide resist
So why am I here a talking living breathing poem
Became perception in my deception of correction
When the winds rose upon destitute foreheads
And I became still as the pond in the willow
O melody play me some sweet sounds of rhythm
For syncopation's are dualities in real-time forgiven
Violins become a thousand teardrops of sensuality
Play the sad deductions that become seductions
She reaps my heart and grows corn past my eyes
Now I grow serene in a daisy filled plain of deep coma
A contest entry
- Is your Writing in a Wrut? by just mercedes.
1700 points, ended December 17, 2008, 22 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
-
Powerful stuff - you've folllowed instructions and stamped this poem with a unique voice and a lightning storm of images. I like best 'still as the pond in the willow'
Thank you for this great entry.
-
Really enjoyed this , good luck in the contest!
-
this was all you my friend and that is what i liked about it, keep it flowing and good luck in the contest
-
This was enjoyable reading, well done writing it Antipodi.
Adding your comment:
