There in the courtyard
Spending my time
Here in the glaring sun
Sat at a table
Not really able
To tell when the day is done
Frankly, it's wild
Much like an ocean
The waves on the rise
Constantly in motion
Here I am swimming
Hoping to stay
Trying real hard not to drift away
So here I sit now
Sadly alone
Watching the clouds go by
What does it matter
It's all just chatter
And all I can do is sigh
Even though they're not here
I hear them say
Why aren't you working?
Is something there in your way?
And I must follow
The rules I must swallow
Trying real hard not to drift away
Escaping someday
Always a dream
But what am I running from?
Is it those who control me
Or is it myself?
And why do I feel so numb?
Why am I running
If I'm not afraid
Or have I been played
Or have I been made to be
Humbly quiet
Smiling today
Intentionally trying to drift away?
YOU ARE READING
Imagination
Poetryim·ag·i·na·tion /iˌmajəˈnāSH(ə)n/ noun the faculty or action of forming new ideas, or images or concepts of external objects not present to the senses. Otherwise known as "Musings of the Balladeer." This is an anthology of poetry I've written...
