Sitting on the roadside, puffing
Looking at the little girl smiling
Cars passing by, ignoring
What he thinks of now
What's holding him now
No one knows why he's there now.
He's waiting for the car to pick him up.
Leaning against the wall, sighing
Watching the clouds, fleeting
Memories and present life, conflicting
He needs to get his ideas down
Making his forehead frowned
This little book is getting brown
He needs an inspiration, fueling his obsession
His passion, looking at the irony of prediction
His insecurities betraying his limitation
He's waiting for the car to pick him up.
I'm waiting for the car to pick me up.
2 comments:
clap clap.
for some reason, when i m reading this... it feels like there's someone rapping your poem in my head! rap song potential.
u know all my stuff are based on rap... tats y sumtimes i call them rhymes instead of poems
Post a Comment