|
 Menu
|
|
|
|
|
Social
|
|
|
|
|
He
Contributed by
PLformalyknownasPpaul
on
Tuesday, 8th November 2005 @ 08:56:11 AM in AEST
Topic:
Lifepoems
|
He is a Rolling Stone, He has a home
He likes to ramble, He likes to roam
He has got a deep voice of nails and an orchestra in his pocket
He wrote the greatest song in the world and then forgot it
He rides the night bus with his personal stereo turned high
He is a friend to the charity case, the unsure diplomat, the ones with the far a way look in there eyes
He has honest eyes but His smile can lie
He makes the rounds but wonders why
His boots were brought for walking but his hair dose all the talking
He is a tipsy gypsy but He is not lipsy
He has the Rainbow behind the locked door in the back of his mind
If He could find the key He could change the course of time
He has visited the slum, looked out from the dock
He has walked twenty miles of bad road hanging on to a solid rock
He is very well read it is well known
He stays up late to hear the tongues of angels, He hears dead voices screaming down broken megaphones
His mind creates but his creations make him sick
He tries to touch people but flinches when they touch him
Searching endless for the perfect companion
But never can He reconcile his visions to the canyon
Constantly searching He has had his mind blown apart and put back together
A regular tourist but always a stranger to the within
He feels like his own twin
He has got parents who trust
He wonders why, it must be a must
He is a sad eyed poet who plays the fool
Everywhere He goes people tell him Youre cool
He looks them straight in the eyes but more and more it becomes a chore
As He stands to one side and looks across the flashing floor
Man of the streets, feels safe when hes inside
Sometimes the suns to bright for his eyes
The cold wind pleasing, the icy rain teasing
He is a wild Dancer in the silence of the night when everyones leaving
He can snarl like a tiger, snap like a trap but his sarcasm always betrays misgivings
He stops and looks up to the sky while everyone walks by and thinks he sees a comet
A wander, a plunderer, a squanderer who believes all things to be sacred
He closes his eyes and sees bliss opens them up looks around and sees the pit
Now exchanging his mask for face paint, checks his watch and walks a ragged mile to wait
Dark eyes, psychedelic shirts and leather coats
He aint there, He is here, He spits and He swallows as He floats
You see the turmoil around you and remember something you heard
You want to tell everybody but you cant find the words
Hes everything I want to be and everything I dont
Forget him?
I wont
Copyright ©
PLformalyknownasPpaul
... [
2005-11-08 08:56:11]
(Date/Time posted on
site)
Advertisments:
|
|
|
|
|
|
Sorry, comments are no longer allowed for anonymous, please register for a free membership to access this feature and more
|
|
All comments are owned by the poster. Your Poetry
Dot Com is not responsible for the content of any
comment.
That said, if you find an offensive comment, please
contact via the FeedBack Form with details, including poem title
etc.
|
|
|
Re: He
(User Rating: 1 )
by Former_Member on
Thursday, 19th October 2006 @ 04:25:33 PM AEST
(User
Info | Send
a Message)
|
| This was good. It had a nice rhythm to it |
|
|
|
· 
Poetry
Site Help
Members
Areas
Reference
Search
Top
Others
