Tuesday, October 23, 2007

No Proper Posting Today

I'm tired.

It looks like a day for good bad poetry, doesn't it? How about a couple of gloomy ones?

Time is speeding to a close.
We have canceled hope
And the answers that we chose
now tentatively grope
for questions no-one knows.


An Ode To A Wasted Girl

She won't sing.
Not one single sound.
The bees sharpen their stings.

Her hair is not like honey.

What if a way
could have been found
for her to fly without wings?

But that would have taken money.

So now she's silent and will not be queen.
And we'll never learn what her
silence might mean.