Bored on a Saturday bus
Burning in bitter cold to
Ease into the sunset,
But the clouds, they blur my
View. So I turn to gaze at
A moon that lies distorted
Just the same and do not
Look down: the streams below
The bridge are not for play,
(hence the bridge)
Children do not laugh
As loud, and the road ahead
Is your lullaby…
This is the purest of poetry.
Knowing fully where you are
Going but not assured the safe
Trip there, and if you steer
Off course, where do you travel
From where? There is not a
Lover’s hand to hold, just a
Sea of strangers, that see
A lonely boy on his way back
Home from his home from years before
But if you ask, they’ll never know…
And if they did…
They’re twice as sure.
p.s.
http://board.rapmusic.com/showthread...93#post9974793
http://board.rapmusic.com/showthread...00#post9974800
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A poem begins as a lump in the throat,
a sense of wrong,
a homesickness,
a lovesickness.