Unamed

‘You freak of nature

Jump off your chair

Living the rest without care’

 

‘Cleaned up

Not many did

Their dirty scripts

Are at an end’

 

Poetry is my way of normal

Communication.

 

‘The mist

It clouds us but

Then

Who doesn’t?

The sun it warms us but

Then

Who does?’

 

‘The man writes the end

Must feel

So bad

His life is a lie

And his words the ‘truth’

When he finishes his own book who then

Will he choose?’