Will my eyes fall
before my mind fades?
Will poetic words escape,
running faster than sleep?
They are there,
right behind my pen,
pushing and struggling to be freed.
Too many push
Too many are jammed into the passage way.
The ink cannot be spread fast enough,
they are clogged and stuck.
My eyes are falling
as my mind fades.
My poetry lost the race;
sleep won.
I just scribbled down a fast poem and wanted to get some feed back. I also like how it came out, so wanted to share it with you, my readers.
She waits, she works
she spins and twirls.
Merrily on her way she goes
in a dance that no one knows.
He paces, he panics
He dashes to run races.
Frantically rushing every where
in a rave that no one knows.
They talk, they listen
They move all about
Sweetly whispering and giggling in the other’s ears
in a life no on really knows about.