I haven't seen clouds lately, i wonder what must <br />be wrong. But not knowing where to go to sit <br /> <br />face to face with the sun, even if i am all alone <br />in Heaven with a wish to give a kiss to Hell; like <br /> <br />a couple of angels ready to listen to what i want <br />to talk about. So i just use the grass as a pillow <br /> <br />and dream about no more tears or sighs, or <br />no time when i am too sad to see your soul. <br /> <br />Maybe the trees change their colors more than <br />my thoughts. Maybe because they get their clothes <br /> <br />wet, and, my dear, i am used to sleeping there. <br />Passing out because i get so drunk i am unable <br /> <br />to be near God. I am thinking you do not cry <br />cause precious life is coming to an end. The mirror <br /> <br />i own i have held in my hands, and i have let it fly <br />away as now i am my own bird and for me, <br /> <br />getting wet is where my mother might say. She <br />is suffering seriously from drinking a cup of my tears. <br /> <br />Because she just might know I am as close to you, <br />as i was when i was inside her; intermittenly dripping <br /> <br />my tears inside her, and i know she must have felt the pain. <br />She must have felt helpless as this is the way of the world. <br /> <br />This is the way living things beg of the gods in the end, <br />this is way parents prohibit and protect the way i would <br /> <br />like to spend my afterlife. Writing poems in an infant's grave, <br />and yearning that the girl with your wings will go unharmed. <br /> <br />She will have stories on me smelling of the spell of love. <br />She will bring all the money from the banks of the rivers, <br /> <br />and drink nothing but memories. Nothing but the brown earth, <br />where i had nowhere to sleep, and less place to dream<br /><br />gregory collins<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/seasons-of-emotion/
