All the reason I write poetry. But mainley cause it's all the things I can't say
slave to my own madness , i started up some new sentences
They were built as wise as i thought i'd be
but instead they were my own sense of a cahotic reality
confessions erased by the chains of time
meaning that some words no longer needed to find
they were strait, cruel, those verses i used to write
blown by the wind, on stormy states of mind
evolutions never meant much to me
constructions, rhymes , pure insanity
never realy felt like standing up to rules,wisdom
settled words like in geometry
always was so faithfull to my on poetry
it burns inside like a torch of despair
my fingers spit out the words i dont always say
leading them as birds lead each other on their way
but i dont always find what i'm looking for in the end
it's like a strange act in which we can pretend
the truth always follows, some way or the other
catching up with imagination, your feet moving foward
poetry... just flows, throw in the wings of your soul
wings you never owned, and never will
but at least here you can pretend...
let the others believe in it
let them fly with your tripped words
although you know they wont go any higher
for its your fake truth they're reading...
Poetry by TeeTee
Read 473 times
Written on 2007-03-16 at 18:49
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Wicket Poetry
I used to write some poems to evade myselfslave to my own madness , i started up some new sentences
They were built as wise as i thought i'd be
but instead they were my own sense of a cahotic reality
confessions erased by the chains of time
meaning that some words no longer needed to find
they were strait, cruel, those verses i used to write
blown by the wind, on stormy states of mind
evolutions never meant much to me
constructions, rhymes , pure insanity
never realy felt like standing up to rules,wisdom
settled words like in geometry
always was so faithfull to my on poetry
it burns inside like a torch of despair
my fingers spit out the words i dont always say
leading them as birds lead each other on their way
but i dont always find what i'm looking for in the end
it's like a strange act in which we can pretend
the truth always follows, some way or the other
catching up with imagination, your feet moving foward
poetry... just flows, throw in the wings of your soul
wings you never owned, and never will
but at least here you can pretend...
let the others believe in it
let them fly with your tripped words
although you know they wont go any higher
for its your fake truth they're reading...
Poetry by TeeTee
Read 473 times
Written on 2007-03-16 at 18:49
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
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Zoya Zaidi |
