I'm easily bored, a trait I'm guessing I'm sharing with a lot of you.
And I'm also fond of 'Haiku' you know, poems that expresses a lot without to many words.
so lets try a journey, an natural one. you're welcome to create.
But give it your best please, and if you find place for it
Do drop a haiku somewhere in it. Or similar...
( Sixteen or eighteen. Like never being late for church on Sundays
Never mind what you might be doing those week days..
)
But thanks, missed that one.
................................................................................................
It was late, to late by far. She could feel her feet getting colder as she tiredly stood, waiting in the cold rain. A small robin dived, circling her once and then gone. That could be my life she though, like a flash of laughter, here now then gone.
Overhead the rainclouds seemed to be chasing the moon and at her feet she could see bleak slivers of herself reflected in the puddles under the streetlight. She was leaving town, there was nothing more for her here. At the age of eighteen, at least that was what the ID told, and with nowhere to go, she thought to herself.
It had taken all courage she had to follow through her decision, She just couldn't take the abuse her new foster family was forcing her through. So here she was, waiting for a magic Greyhound to come, and to carry her away.
.
And I'm also fond of 'Haiku' you know, poems that expresses a lot without to many words.
so lets try a journey, an natural one. you're welcome to create.
But give it your best please, and if you find place for it
Do drop a haiku somewhere in it. Or similar...
( Sixteen or eighteen. Like never being late for church on Sundays
Never mind what you might be doing those week days..
But thanks, missed that one.
................................................................................................
It was late, to late by far. She could feel her feet getting colder as she tiredly stood, waiting in the cold rain. A small robin dived, circling her once and then gone. That could be my life she though, like a flash of laughter, here now then gone.
Overhead the rainclouds seemed to be chasing the moon and at her feet she could see bleak slivers of herself reflected in the puddles under the streetlight. She was leaving town, there was nothing more for her here. At the age of eighteen, at least that was what the ID told, and with nowhere to go, she thought to herself.
It had taken all courage she had to follow through her decision, She just couldn't take the abuse her new foster family was forcing her through. So here she was, waiting for a magic Greyhound to come, and to carry her away.
.
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