People
We go in and out of ourselves
And the use of ourselves is more than the naked eye can see
We are alike from the heels of our heads
Whilst we jump and stumble over obstacles landing on our beds
The funniest thing about us is how we grow
Not all like proper children, which is always very slow
We don’t have a notion of how children ought to play
And we always make a fool of ourselves in a sort of way
Our faces are like clocks in the hall
We shine on thieves on the garden wall
Whilst we belong to things of day
And cuddle ourselves to sleep to be out of the way
Filling the things the body wishes to kill first
YOU ARE READING
A shadow of silhouettes
PoetryAs humans we paint a fabricated picture of who we are and what we stand for. We are caught in pits of hells as we try to impress the status quo of a today society's...
