Today I'm skipping through the fog,
Hopping fences,
Being chased by dogs.
And I find myself in the old junkyard,
With soloists like me,
All broken and scarred.
Beating on cans to sound like drums,
Whirring engines,
Mechanical hums.
Old wire strings,
Here in this yard,
Everything sings.
Copper and steel,
Harmonious a deep sinking,
Something we can feel.
We'll sit here all night,
Play to the skies,
Our sorrows and our fight.
We play of love and all peace,
Our box maracas,
One of our piece.
Drums of cans,
Chimes of bottles,
Guitars of wires,
Flutes of pipe.
Magic is in the air,
Spinning and flowing,
Everywhere.
And the parents will find us,
And all they will see,
Is some kids in a junk yard,
Making a fuss.
Author notes
Could have been better. Meh
A contest entry
- A Titles Contest ^^ by Rashida.
3500 points, ended November 7, 19 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Thoughts?
Comments
-
I did like the rhythm of the piece, but as you said yourself, it could have been better.
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