383 (15.07.2015)

The world has sinned and is hidden in fog
The lightest drizzle's seeped into the air
The garden's turning slowly to a bog
Is loving just another word for share.
We all have muses hanging round our head
It's very hard to hear them if there's noise
Sometimes mine whispers to me in my bed
"Forget about all fun that fear destroys...".
The summer's lost its smiling summer face,
It seems as if the autumns come to try
And see just what it's like to own this space,
The only truth it seems to be we die.
I'm trying to think of something else I know,
But now my muse has gone it's time to go.

No comments:

Post a Comment