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Literature Text
My chimes they sing to a gust of wind
The feel of it somewhat cold
And I was dancing round the bend
In a field of marigolds.
Field mice scatter to where they may
The garden gnomes stoic and bold
I’m listening to what the wind might say
In a field of marigolds.
Fireflies are dancing in the field
Like me they are breaking the mold
Clouds providing a welcomed shield
In a field of marigolds.
Some Marmots are wobbling across the ground
Their meal is both damp and cold
The hummingbirds making that buzzing sound
In a field of marigolds.
The setting sun means that I must leave
But I’ll remember all that was told
Here we untangle the web that was weaved
In this field of marigolds…
David Rogers
The feel of it somewhat cold
And I was dancing round the bend
In a field of marigolds.
Field mice scatter to where they may
The garden gnomes stoic and bold
I’m listening to what the wind might say
In a field of marigolds.
Fireflies are dancing in the field
Like me they are breaking the mold
Clouds providing a welcomed shield
In a field of marigolds.
Some Marmots are wobbling across the ground
Their meal is both damp and cold
The hummingbirds making that buzzing sound
In a field of marigolds.
The setting sun means that I must leave
But I’ll remember all that was told
Here we untangle the web that was weaved
In this field of marigolds…
David Rogers
Literature
untitled 28
our lives are defined
every line that we speak
the words are willing
but the grammar is weak
Literature
Untitled 5
I hold back a fist full of dirt.
I'm angry, enraged.
I blame you.
I turn and open my hand, my eyes meet shimmering sand and I see...
A myriad of laughter shards,
a toy box crammed with forgotten times and cries,
the sweat of a humid summer day.
I close my eyes and my fist, breathing deep, calming down
To release this punch would be useless
I could throw it in your face, in your eyes but it would be a waste.
You wouldn't see what I see.
Literature
Scabbage
Crust clings to skin, puckered edges spreading red
On elbows and knees, shouting out where you’ve been
Raised white lines across wrists indicate attempts
Salvation, damnation, maybe just blissful sleep
Fog rolls in your eyes, bees buzz in your head
You paint the world bright and colorful, sarcastically
Because all you’ve ever known was darkness
And you do like your primary colors to dream in
Walk down the street, head hung low, mumbling
Expecting nothing from the world, and getting it
Knives in your eyes and poison on your tongue
Born to be crucified; who am I to deny you?
Love does not conquer all, not the likes of us
Festeri
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©All of my works are copyrighted and may not be reproduced or copied without my express permission
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So beautiful...you are so gifted my dear friend!! 