Post by Winston on Oct 13, 2009 21:08:26 GMT -5
I wrote a poem. It's complete nonsense. And a little hard to follow. But oh boy does it sound deep as the ocean!!
Key Chains and Cabinet Doors
I’m standing just outside the house
Trying to get a look indoors
But it’s hard when all the blinds are drawn
And I seem to have lost my key
I guess it’s really my own fault
For being careless with the chain
But that doesn’t change the facts
That everyone’s shut up and locked away
So I sit strumming notes that I just don’t know
Waiting for someone to recognize the song
Even though I’ve not learned the tune myself
But how can anyone even listen?
They’re too busy, all too busy for me
With their key chains and cabinet doors
And sheets of hand drawn music
I am nearly meaningless, just used up cardboard
It isn’t like I hold it against them though
How could I? I’d do just the same
But an ounce of recognition wouldn’t hurt
Just to show me that I’m still real and breathing
Tying headphones into nooses, thin wiry strands
And hanging myself from the harmonies
My face turns red; I’m upside down for too long
My knees hooked over the jungle gym bars
What do I have left to hold onto?
Now everything has floated away…
What was once real turned into music notes
That drifted off of the pages of my thousand books
And all this reality is just a lie, a clever sham
But the dreams are loud as ever and still following me
And all the doors in the house are still locked tight
And my key has become no less missing.
I know it's not very good. Actually, probably one of the worst poems I've seen in quite some time, but I like it. And it doesn't flow very well, but it has it's own special little rhythm if you can just pick it out...
Key Chains and Cabinet Doors
I’m standing just outside the house
Trying to get a look indoors
But it’s hard when all the blinds are drawn
And I seem to have lost my key
I guess it’s really my own fault
For being careless with the chain
But that doesn’t change the facts
That everyone’s shut up and locked away
So I sit strumming notes that I just don’t know
Waiting for someone to recognize the song
Even though I’ve not learned the tune myself
But how can anyone even listen?
They’re too busy, all too busy for me
With their key chains and cabinet doors
And sheets of hand drawn music
I am nearly meaningless, just used up cardboard
It isn’t like I hold it against them though
How could I? I’d do just the same
But an ounce of recognition wouldn’t hurt
Just to show me that I’m still real and breathing
Tying headphones into nooses, thin wiry strands
And hanging myself from the harmonies
My face turns red; I’m upside down for too long
My knees hooked over the jungle gym bars
What do I have left to hold onto?
Now everything has floated away…
What was once real turned into music notes
That drifted off of the pages of my thousand books
And all this reality is just a lie, a clever sham
But the dreams are loud as ever and still following me
And all the doors in the house are still locked tight
And my key has become no less missing.
I know it's not very good. Actually, probably one of the worst poems I've seen in quite some time, but I like it. And it doesn't flow very well, but it has it's own special little rhythm if you can just pick it out...
