Alright, this is the second poem that I dare expose to.. You know, people, so don't throw fruit at him. He's young and would cry in the literary-corner.
I like the choice of the picture, I think it opens up many interpretations. Awesome. :yawnb:
'Ere we go!
Chained light bulb
A choir of possibilities sings of chances that are left unspoilt
And the trees hear it with wooden ears
their leaves cry out of blasphemy
as I tell them that I am mighty.
More free than the wind that makes them dance to a sad tune
I stand so tall that I make the mountains sweat and shrug and
grow an inferiority-complex.
I am the captain of my own fate, and cut wailing wires where I want
The water is immense and without worry, it is wise and strong
and I will make it feel like the water left in an unfinished paper-cup
that nobody wants.
I contain no sharks, nor did I make the Titanic sink,
but this substance takes the shape of others
This sad sea sees the coasts, the beaches, and sees prison bars.
The clouds feel mighty and with my own might bestowed
I will make them feel like elder men, newly widowed.
The sun does rise and greet the world, so yellow and so indulged
I look onto that old sad veteran, and I see an old sad prisoner
in the sky
who should be tearful but remains a sad friendly giant
in the sky
who drinks scotch and calls up the moon and regrets regretful things
in the morning. In the sky.
I pity the sun, and I pity you.
We are more free.
- Roo
