She keeps the sun
In her pocket
As she goes
About her day
Wouldn't know
How to deal with it
If she brought it out
Anyway.
It's the moon
And the fog
That keeps travelling
Along the map
Towards normal
In her brain.
She dreams about the rays
That keep Dimming her vision
She opens her eyes
To the television
It's a little too loud
She's still a little too scared
To venture outside.
But the snow
Still looks pretty
Through the double paned glass.
She never saw the fog
In the reflection
When the Christmas lights glowed.
Until the rain poured in on them
At last.
Her vision hits her
Like a night train
Moving down
The wrong track.
I swear,
She never
Hit the driveway
So fast.
Until she crashes,
Right into you.
I guess which side of God
You're rooting for, well,
Faith only happens
When you're on
The winning team.
But she keeps it
In her pocket
Along with the sun,
Wouldn't know
How to deal with
Faith, anyway.
A free flight of creativity on winged imagination. A beautiful creation. Thanks for sharing, Chris.
Is it burning a hole in there? Fun poem! Just the right amount of glare.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I guess which side of God You're rooting for, well, Faith only happens When you're on The winning team....// yeah; beautiful expression