But before our very eyes,
Sunshine yields to cloudy skies
And honey,
No one brakes for butterflies
Because in this world
Of neon lights and lies
Birds spite the man who walks
And men spite the bird who flies
As a bee's stinger fulfills its purpose
The bumblebee dies
And in the end following our duty
Only brings us closer to our demise
Eternities of suffering
Do not make one wise
And as someone's dream comes true
Somebody else cries.
YOU ARE READING
Misty (a collection of my poetry) {{COMPLETE}}
PoetryA road trip of poetry, I guess. Care to come along? Highest rank: 267 in poetry Read my third poetry book, "hush." I have high hopes for it. Read my first poetry book, "where the bluebirds aren't." (Or don't, it's old and rather embarrassing). ⚠️...
