i am the smoke from an incense stick
floating above the charred autumn leaves
i was not invented
i do not choose to exist.
the wind carries me
but unlike a breeze, i have no direction.
i long to be colorful
but no matter what burns inside me
i am just thick, gray smoke.
i hear children laughing, and ducks quacking, and a sun setting
but my whispy form creates no sound
i disappear with the fire.
"but no matter what burns inside me
ReplyDeletei am just thick, gray smoke."
At least you smell nice, since you came from incense. I don't know what to tell ya. This is beyond my non-indie vocab. . .
Grand Slam!
That was way smooth.
ReplyDeletevery nice.
That was truly phenomenal. Keep up the good work.
ReplyDelete"i was not invented
ReplyDeletei do not choose to exist.
the wind carries me
but unlike a breeze, i have no direction.
i long to be colorful
but no matter what burns inside me
i am just thick, gray smoke."
The way you put this is perfection, I could really relate to it. The whole poem was amazing and I loved the whole thing.
I adore your blog.
ReplyDeleteI really liked this.
ReplyDelete"but my whispy form creates no sound"