deepundergroundpoetry.com
At Night...
He asks, "Why you always writing?"
I write, "Why you always thinking?"
His thinking reeks of memoir.
He thinks to remember.
He thinks to reflect.
My writing reeks of fiction.
I write to create.
I write to forget.
Unfortunately,
I never forget
to write,
And he always remembers
to think.
Yet, his dreams are full of fantasies
While mine are full of memories.
I write, "Why you always thinking?"
His thinking reeks of memoir.
He thinks to remember.
He thinks to reflect.
My writing reeks of fiction.
I write to create.
I write to forget.
Unfortunately,
I never forget
to write,
And he always remembers
to think.
Yet, his dreams are full of fantasies
While mine are full of memories.
Published 20th Mar 2015
| Edited 21st Mar 2015
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Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
21st Mar 2015 1:11am
21st Mar 2015 1:30am
Great poem
"Yet, his dreams are full of fantasies
While mine are full of memories."
Love those lines lines ^^
"Yet, his dreams are full of fantasies
While mine are full of memories."
Love those lines lines ^^
