Treasure Island

Airda Jones

(Sept.17,1988 / US)

Away, Away


I tried and I tried
But I can't say I can
I never could truly
So that is why I ran

Away from hurt
Away from pain
I ran so much that
I went dizzily insane

But I have to pick up
Have to keep going
As far away as I can
Running but still knowing

That I hide my heart
But when I go
You find it along the way
And then you follow

If you always come
Why even try when
No matter how far I run
You always catch me in the end.

Submitted: Thursday, May 01, 2008

Do you like this poem?
0 person liked.
0 person did not like.

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Comments about this poem (Away, Away by Airda Jones )

Enter the verification code :

  • Kesav Easwaran (11/24/2008 1:19:00 AM)

    desperate futile running...away from one's own self...no wonder the shadow follows...nice poem...artful presentation of inner feelings...ten for you, Airda... (Report) Reply

Read all 1 comments »

Top Poems

  1. Phenomenal Woman
    Maya Angelou
  2. The Road Not Taken
    Robert Frost
  3. If You Forget Me
    Pablo Neruda
  4. Still I Rise
    Maya Angelou
  5. Dreams
    Langston Hughes
  6. Annabel Lee
    Edgar Allan Poe
  7. If
    Rudyard Kipling
  8. I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
    Maya Angelou
  9. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
    Robert Frost
  10. Invictus
    William Ernest Henley

PoemHunter.com Updates

New Poems

  1. My Big Brother, Edgar Albert Guest
  2. The Old-Fashioned Cooks, Edgar Albert Guest
  3. At The Summer Cottage, Edgar Albert Guest
  4. The After-Dinner Smoke, Edgar Albert Guest
  5. The New Year's Caller, Edgar Albert Guest
  6. It's not Fun, Aftab Alam
  7. The Card Club's First Meeting, Edgar Albert Guest
  8. When Pa Gets Back, Edgar Albert Guest
  9. The Peevish Man, Edgar Albert Guest
  10. Laughing is an exercise not intelligence, Pranab K. Chakraborty

Poem of the Day

poet Henry Lawson


The old year went, and the new returned, in the withering weeks of drought,
The cheque was spent that the shearer earned,
and the sheds were all cut out;
...... Read complete »

   

Member Poem

[Hata Bildir]