4 line poetry
Loss
That's the sand of time, slipping away, As you try to greedily hold on to everyday. The smudge of your memory on the horizon, Is fading into legend; the words, they are done.
Poetry
But many times
Oblivion
We drink from the chalice of forgetfulness, And dance the mute minuet of sorrow. Is it true that our eyes confess, How we dread the dawn of the morrow?
I post once a year
The Not so Petit Prince
Or Don't Panic. Just take me to your leader "Hi, my name is Peter, aged twenty three, I have a terrible fear of growing up", says he. "Not very different to other millennial men," I laugh, "you should fit right here then."
I post once a year
Chance
And, these players? They sit through the morose night, Watching their listless life pass by in a flickering, For the game belongs neither to the player nor the played, It belongs to the restless regrets of the unmourned morning.
Third person narratives
The Vaudeville Life
A custard pie in the face A monologue in the smokey haze A jazz-fueled stupor An almost religious fervour A puppet held by its strings Who knows what tomorrow brings Because it is a vaudeville life. A custard pie in the face There is nothing as truly terrifying to a
First person narratives
Pocket philosophy
The bird of happiness nested in my hair, Brushed away all my world weary cares, Breathed the softest song into my ear, Brought me everything my hearts craves. The litte boat woven from beautiful dreams, Rocked its way from rivulet to stream, Oh! Steer gently the bend, little boat You
Life
Stranger in a strange land
The beautiful vistas, the azure seas, The rolling plains, the golden sands. The stuff of your childhood dreams, Then, why are you this stranger in a strange land? Your heart knows no own hearth, The search is quelled by no iron hand, You sleep on the softest bed, Still, you&