Younguns

Haha!

So I was cleaning the house/sorting through all the rubbish in said house,
and I came upon some old poems that I wrote
AAAAAAGGGGGEEEEESSSSSSS ago,
like when I was a little(ish) kid,
for an old english teacher.

Thought I’d put them up here
so you can see how I’ve come on.

The Real and The Unreal
The start of poems, you’ll often see,
start out in reality.
But move out of it
into the abstract world
of dreams and nightmares
and things that will
not be and have
not been and
peoples thoughts.

And sometimes,
they do make rhymes.

Windy
The wind is like a
feeling.
You cannot see or feel
or taste it.
But it moves things.

Slow Time
When my eye is close
to something,
all starts to slow
as my mind considers
views that it hasn’t
seen before.

In another world.
Then suddenly snapped
back to the speed
of reality which
seems to
blur and too quick
to focus on.

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