Most of the muse's
I once had on poetbay
They've not only left
They've gone away
Seems that I have lost my muse.
The ones that inspire me to write,
During days as well as nights.
Can I feel the trade winds blowing,
Blowing all my dreams far away.
Across a craggy sky thoughts are nigh,
I see the clouds weeping were I lie.
Go karts are racing around in my head,
A cemetery of my mind that welcomes the dead.
Like bumper cars bumping all around,
Crashing into one another not seeing what's ahead.
Seaside markets opening selling all their wares,
To a none caring public that's going nowhere.
Wandering around being taken in one by one,
Growing skin cancer under the midday sun.
If only they knew, They were young looking in,
Sun lotion could be the saviour of a mottled skin.
Than again I was young once too,
Never heeding what I needed to.
There is much to do about nothing,
As we travel along each day.
The whores of wars are still waring,
Nobody listens to the children dieing along the way.
Poetry by Alan J Ripley
Read 65 times
Written on 2024-05-31 at 00:43
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I once had on poetbay
They've not only left
They've gone away
MOST OF MY MUSES, ICONIC FRIENDS
Feeling sad a little confused,Seems that I have lost my muse.
The ones that inspire me to write,
During days as well as nights.
Can I feel the trade winds blowing,
Blowing all my dreams far away.
Across a craggy sky thoughts are nigh,
I see the clouds weeping were I lie.
Go karts are racing around in my head,
A cemetery of my mind that welcomes the dead.
Like bumper cars bumping all around,
Crashing into one another not seeing what's ahead.
Seaside markets opening selling all their wares,
To a none caring public that's going nowhere.
Wandering around being taken in one by one,
Growing skin cancer under the midday sun.
If only they knew, They were young looking in,
Sun lotion could be the saviour of a mottled skin.
Than again I was young once too,
Never heeding what I needed to.
There is much to do about nothing,
As we travel along each day.
The whores of wars are still waring,
Nobody listens to the children dieing along the way.
Poetry by Alan J Ripley
Read 65 times
Written on 2024-05-31 at 00:43
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text|
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