Just a few moments of staggering inspiration and the need to write. These are my works, and stealing of such things are prohibited.
Table of Contents
1. The Bus Station
2. Umbrella
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Just a few moments of staggering inspiration and the need to write. These are my works, and stealing of such things are prohibited.
Table of Contents
1. The Bus Station
2. Umbrella
She lifts her fingers to her face
And wonders what life is really about
What love could possibly bring
And what the ideas could turn into
A blaring bit of a yellow sign
Telling of times, places
Warnings of what to do and what not to do
Plastered on walls, surrounding her
And the scent of oil and the fumes of exhaust
Both of the human and the mechanical types
Dripping and plopping down onto carefully guarded skin
The bench molds to her body
Encasing her in a glass case that preserves the beauty that of the untainted
She sits much like a porcelain doll
Wide eyed, unblinking
As she realizes that thinking on such subjects
Are just unnecessary
A bright yellow covering
That everyone can see
Protection from the tears that fall from the s k y
Endlessly and each droplet sometimes goes unnoticed
When the mind is focused on something other than the r a i n that drizzles
And a hand reached out to feel the quaint r a i n
Only expecting the feeling of r a i n
One may forget the encounter of emotion