PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

A Seven Year itch has unleashed and unhitched

I'm about to flip the switch in my mind

Ten cents to a dime

Two cents in my prime

I've lost my focus

I can't just rely on the old tricks no more

I'm not the magician or his lovely assistants whore



I'm somewhere in myself, but too much of me is in others

wrapped in thier hearts

trapped in thier covers



Its amazing that the shooting star press is by nature the same

and the shooting star stress did limit my game

and the shooting star bless did give me my fame

and the shooting star mess ended my name

I'm One shooting star less with two legs lame



In seven years it will end

I will no longer be a lost boy

I will have done my time

My time of learning of the world

I learned too much

I wish to be dumb

To be stupid and innocent



like waves claiming the land

the world will turn on itself

I will turn on myself

It will be a glorious rain dance

and when the smoke raises from the doused fires

I will raise my arms high again



And walk with a swagger, not a limp

And talk like a man, not a chimp



I can name the stars

I can tell you which ones are falling

In seven years, that is when mine will