A Man
It was myself,
a man crying
made of clay,
a faded yellow gray,
eyes cold
fixed all day,
inside I'm dieing,
each flake of life
breaking away,
a clay man crying
all day
Hell-o
his ares wrapped me
in a bone crushing embrace,
whisked away with burning
hearts to an ever dieing place,
never again to see the
human race.
The Detective
He stands there
A glance at the time
I make a break
And was seen
He gives chase
Wants to talk
I run
Don't know why
I hide,...
He scares me
But why
why come after me
what dose he know
how dose he always find me
what did i do
that may effect him
what is to gain
why chase
and why me?
these poems are inspired by real dreams, dreams that reflect, dreams that question,
