Sunday, August 9, 1998

can't be fun


the wind wakes me from a peaceful rest
against the wall my head is pressed
for time, I take it slow
it will soon be my time to know
what I see before my eyes
can’t even focus, not a surprise
I am so tired at this early hour
still half asleep without a shower
falling from the sky
and if you ask, the clouds do cry
for all the times my eyes won’t move
but it isn’t something I can prove
emotion in the world around
from high up, right to the ground
below my feet where I walk then run
but what is life if it can’t be fun…

No comments: