Surreal Poem

I took a pen in fashion pink.

And a tabula rasa.

And burning passion was the ink-

The letters dancing salsa.

I start to write about your eyes

And stars - my destination.

And my sweet blanket are the skies

And clouds – a strange creation.

I write on fog, on rain, on snow,

And hope for the eternal.

And all the words - a perfect flow

For once a dying journal.

I’d wish you'd know they are for you

These rhymes from hell ascending.

But you are real, you have a view...

And I, a shell… descending.

© 2010 Lith Ium

Tuesday, July 13, 2010