deepundergroundpoetry.com
Wheely Wheels
The wheely wheels are turning.
The sightly sound is here to stay.
A rush, a brush, a maple yearn.
A craze, a dance to rush to play
When to run to way.
The wheely wheels are turning.
And all that life within me burning.
And all that soak that drenches my soul.
To love and hope and take the tole.
To dance a sight to learn.
And spit the fire burn.
The wheely wheels are moving.
They move and move and move.
Until the fire drains away.
When to die to day.
The sightly sound is here to stay.
A rush, a brush, a maple yearn.
A craze, a dance to rush to play
When to run to way.
The wheely wheels are turning.
And all that life within me burning.
And all that soak that drenches my soul.
To love and hope and take the tole.
To dance a sight to learn.
And spit the fire burn.
The wheely wheels are moving.
They move and move and move.
Until the fire drains away.
When to die to day.
Published 30th Sep 2012
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Anonymous
30th Sep 2012 9:18am
This poem has a rhythm to it, its poetry that moves in motion, nicely done!
Mourganna¤
Mourganna¤
