What is it like to fly?
How do you walk into the sky?
Tell me please, because I
I want to walk into the sky.
I don’t like summer, and it’s getting really warm around here. Here’s my explanation in verse.
“In written pain and summer’s due
From tilled soil and dawning’s vibrant hue
So the god of Plums speaks to you.”
Some people aren’t that helpful in a crisis. Also, I’m just not sure if I’m cut out to be a poet. William Faulkner once said a failed poet is a short story writer and failing that, you become a novelist. If I fail at being a novelist, do I go on Twitter? Maybe a failed novelist is a blogger.
It’s funny how children, most of them, can’t lie very well. Actually, a lot of adults can’t lie well either so what am I saying? I guess I’m saying that lying is bad, and you shouldn’t do it. I find running away works a lot better.
If I had a thousand years, I’d create a forest of legends. The passing of centuries must be so strange for trees, because they don’t do much but grow as the years pass.
But time is a lot quicker for us. For some, it’s too quick. But when we’re gone, the forest remains. (Unless an idiot burns it down.)
From mind to word and action less
Regardless of work or ceaseless rest
I’m staring at that damnable wall
As I sit in these empty, quiet halls
All my lofty aspirations will in the end
Sunflowers! March along with them each day! I hate sunflower seeds, so let’s have a parade! …Something like that.
If you came to a crossroads, would you take the road less traveled by? Would the memory lodge in your mind, a choice you’ll never return to? Or are you like Pirate, who doesn’t worry about such things? I guess we’ll find out once we’re in that situation.
See, the joke is that crows and ravens look alike, and so you can mistake a raven for a crow, which rhymes with Poe…I’m sorry. Anyways, this one is dedicated to crows. Or ravens. Either way, they’re birds, and that means they’re edible. Also, The Raven is great poetry. I want a raven like that.