Daniel Richards Poems

Pit Stop At The Subconscious Station

Our world’s a soft type perfume,
One worn close but gone by the falling of morning dew,
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I love to be free, among the clouds
And dancing,
It is here, where I meet with you,
Among the clouds romancing.
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There you are, my pretty little thing,
Sitting gently, upon a string.
Waiting for a call the tree will fall,
But that don’t mean a thing at all
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When we are younger, we think we’ll find our own key,
We are so sure,
Unconcerned about what life was sending, until we find,
Life throws up bolted doors, and so we don’t dream no more
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Give me a reason, for not sleeping
In this contest of life I’m awake but dreaming
There must be something, something I’m missing
Full of retorts and rage my mind is bleeding
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My sea’s evaporating,
and it comes as no surprise
always stays the same,
an explosion of the mind
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I hear your whispers,
Sssh don’t make a sound
Upon the table…., the label
Will slow down the crowd
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I love to be free, among the clouds
And dancing,
It is here, where I meet with you,
Among the clouds romancing.
...

I walk along a path of a frozen field, just my shadow and me.
And it’s quite funny, like the witty morning weather;
Flowers now racing, just to be blooming for me,
How can it be so quiet, with all the buzzing bees?
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We where spinning into darkness
The ropes had become undone
Wrestling with our restlessness
The truth began to unravel & soon would be undone
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