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Puddle Of Mud
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The bridge was small,
Just two lanes,
It swayed as I drove,
And as I drove,
The bridge got smaller
And smaller,
And as the bridge got smaller,
I was getting bigger,
And bigger,
And bigger,
And then it started to rain,
The clouds became dark,
And it began to thunder so loud,
I felt the thunder in my gut,
And I felt fear swallowing me,
Like a shark,
I couldn't control it,
The sky closed down on me
And the weight of my car crushing my bones,
But I tried to scream for help,
And no sound came forth,
I decided I was dying,
And opened my eyes to see my maker,
Only to see my shoe in a huge mud puddle,
And then I woke up.
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this was really interesting
this one reminds me of my erotic tease poem. It leads you in one direction, then....
"Wham!!!" I loved it... keep this up and I will be asking you for poetic advice. Keep up the good writing my friend!!!!!
As the eyes are the windows of our soul,
My poetry is the windows of my heart!!!
Ohhhh, I am so glad you
Ohhhh, I am so glad you enjoyed this, ChryWizard! Everyone always tells me I am so pessimistic because I do not believe in grandiose "happily ever afters". They fail to see I find such beauty and truth in realism, and the infintesimal possibilities that are held in grain of sand and the power of a single moment. I should perhaps have titled it, "fantasy shoe". ;-) (and I'm not joking...lol...*no sarcasm intended for once*)
.....
...and he asked her, "do you write poetry? Because I feel as if I am the ink that flows from your quill."
"No", she replied, "but I have experienced it. "
Mud Pud Dream
This poem drew me in, intrigued I wanted to vanish and I guess I did. Masterful write - I love dreamscapes. The mud puddled foot priceless and sensate. Drenched in words ~Lady A~
Allets thank you for your
Allets thank you for your perception on this. I was debating how to title it, "bridge of dreams", or "puddle of mud", because this poem was actually a dream someone else had, and told me about. It happened to become titled "puddle of mud" just out of a desire to magnify the transformation of dream to reality. Thanks!♥
.....
...and he asked her, "do you write poetry? Because I feel as if I am the ink that flows from your quill."
"No", she replied, "but I have experienced it. "