Array ( [sid] => 176834 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => Husk That Became Love [time] => 2013-09-08 16:11:09 [hometext] => [bodytext] => Let it be left to chance, a dice rolled for every outcome.
A open letter with no fulcrum.
Just pieces left on the board game called life.

The worlds a stage, with plagiarized lines from worn out actors looking for their star on hollywoods stroll.
All seeking the same in the end, 23 skidoo.
Just ask the Patuxet tribe, for they know what is true.
More lessons from fabled lines in history, short sided in its view.

Who am i...

I was once a minstrel, a slumber on the loose.
Awakening the souls like knocks on the doors.
Feeling like exposed lions in the throne.
Gave it all away.

I am a husk that became love.
A stumble in the forest floor.
Mindset on destruction forever more.
Not me but my father to be.
All exposed when I am out of control.
Dare I say Give it all away?
Or am I missing out.

I was a pretty child which didn't keep the wolves at bay.
The tore me up and harvested me to their will. beaten and sore.
I still taste the last breath of life clinging on by the fact that I just can't die.
Hunted in the night as predators sought to rip and tear.
I have to break these walls.
The taste of air I sought.
If I could fly without the dream...

Just like faded penmanship on bathroom walls, I keep telling myself the same old quotes.
Head hung like a migrant worker left on the field, seeking a handshake from a friendly smile.
A job well done.
What can I do.
But give it all away.
[comments] => 1 [counter] => 220 [topic] => 73 [informant] => lostrelic [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => abstract ) Your Poetry Dot Com - Husk That Became Love


Husk That Became Love
Date: Sunday, 8th September 2013 @ 04:11:09 PM AEST
Topic: Sad Poetry

Contributed By: lostrelic
Let it be left to chance, a dice rolled for every outcome.
A open letter with no fulcrum.
Just pieces left on the board game called life.

The worlds a stage, with plagiarized lines from worn out actors looking for their star on hollywoods stroll.
All seeking the same in the end, 23 skidoo.
Just ask the Patuxet tribe, for they know what is true.
More lessons from fabled lines in history, short sided in its view.

Who am i...

I was once a minstrel, a slumber on the loose.
Awakening the souls like knocks on the doors.
Feeling like exposed lions in the throne.
Gave it all away.

I am a husk that became love.
A stumble in the forest floor.
Mindset on destruction forever more.
Not me but my father to be.
All exposed when I am out of control.
Dare I say Give it all away?
Or am I missing out.

I was a pretty child which didn't keep the wolves at bay.
The tore me up and harvested me to their will. beaten and sore.
I still taste the last breath of life clinging on by the fact that I just can't die.
Hunted in the night as predators sought to rip and tear.
I have to break these walls.
The taste of air I sought.
If I could fly without the dream...

Just like faded penmanship on bathroom walls, I keep telling myself the same old quotes.
Head hung like a migrant worker left on the field, seeking a handshake from a friendly smile.
A job well done.
What can I do.
But give it all away.


This poem is Copyright © lostrelic


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