Just
He was just standing
Gazing into the distance as if searching for a beat.
Some unknown rythem to send him a way.
I couldn't help but wonder
What is he feeling, seeing?
He was just walking
Deliberately marching to a silent tune.
Hips sway slightly, back erect
A man with a destination, a purpose.
I couldn't help but wonder
Where is he going?
He was just talking
Words strung together as notes in a song.
It was natural, flawless
An easy motion that is just so unbearabley true.
I couldn't help but wonder
What is he saying?
He was just singing
Effortlessly pitching the melody
My heart clings to each beat.
Keeping the sorrow in my soul
I couldn't help but wonder
Who is he singing for?
He was just living
The sincere sound of hard rock defines him
His passion is music, and music is his passion.
I couldn't help but wonder
Could I be that intensity?
He was just there
Perfect for me in every way.
Although he dosen't know
Although I could never say
It's because he is just himself.
- S. Keats's blog
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Nice Work!
This is really lovely Sarah. Lots of pondering and questioning. Is the subject fictional, or someone you know?
Deborah
It's actually someone I
It's actually someone I know. Alot of my poetry is technically "diary poetry" but I think it could relate to other people.
Normal is just a setting on a washing machine.
good work
you have written in very lucid and beautiful style, that's quite fine