Tuesday, 18 December 2007
"You're words are so pretty..."
In my head it all sounds right,
But written on paper its ugly on sight.
It sounds so fluid in my mind,
But when I write the words I find,
That I never had the words at all,
And now I've got to fight the Fall.
My tongue doesn't agree with my pen,
And neither do the ideas of men,
But still I write the words,
Just to see if I can reach the birds;
The ones that hum their own secretive tune,
Calling out to the lonely loon.
If I only reach one that's alright,
These words weren't written for praise tonight.
Dead End Poet