I am...
I am a piece of dustcovering an old,tremendously forgotten building
and as the wind blows inside of me
I can feel all my sorrows wiped away
and the ray of lights calmly blinding me---
I am a beggar
with my clothes all torn
resting in a corner, next to the soft snow
and my exhausted,tortured hand
is being rejuvenated when a coin
flips right on my palm---
I am a street musician
singing old rock'n'roll songs
all I have is my accoustic guitar
and a lot of memories buried in the right side of my hat
people do not seem to acknowledge my existence
but I will sing till my voice falls down dead---
I am an old vinyl record
buried beneath a lot of clothes and a gramophone
old are the clothes,antique the gramophone
we are resting there,sometimes silent,sometimes loud
remembering how important we were
and how non-existant we have come to be now---
I am a sweet nothing walking down the street
invisible to some, visible to others
but I am who I am and I speak what I want to speak
for fear is not a part of my everyday language---
Poetry by Eva
Read 1379 times
Editors' choiceWritten on 2009-07-08 at 21:57
Tags Importance Society Loneliness
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
|
Kathy Lockhart |
|
normalil |
|
Editorial Team |
| Texts |
 by Eva Latest textsTo Let GoSoftness Particle The ghosts Summer in the city |
Increase font
Decrease