Is It Poetry
When Life Is Uncontrolled - Poem by Is It Poetry
There at the closed end of the southern valley,
of bending often winding deep such thoughts.
Where so often,
then at dusk you used to cover me and hide.
Ringed in posies,
wrapped it darkness, singing birds is loudly spilled
The open yawning stare thats blind, but now it sees.
By those very trees,
and bushes leave the circled vines that climb the walls.
Some gouged deep purple and mist floats a cloud,
as it leaves the wall, dew freshly washed blue stained.
And life is uncontrolled,
and beings uncontrolled, is life when theres no rest.
Comments about When Life Is Uncontrolled by Is It Poetry
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You