Poem born of pondering,
listless, aimless wondering,
something not quite so tall,
wondering about the fall,
every empire is born to rise,
and every person dies,
then as one we breathe,
the religion believes,
the poem made of questions,
brilliant people making suggestions,
never noticing what we own,
until we realize what's on loan,
like hearts and a home,
and the feilds you roam,
isn't it irony,
walking tall being so tiny,
when nothing else rhymes,
what's left than to ponder the times.
Nice style....I liked how
Nice style....I liked how this one read'
"Deepinyourdreams"
Thank you so much! I am glad
Thank you so much! I am glad you enjoyed it, and thank you for commenting.
Love,
LovingLovelace
If your mirror doesn't find you one of the most beautiful people it has ever seen, punch it and find a better mirror.