Poetry I Wrote - Probably Badly

Hey. So I write prose. I don't know if you've noticed from EVERY SINGLE OTHER post on this blog. Even the one I called a poem is really prose written in very short sentences. These two are actually poems. The first is a sort of modified sonnet and the second one is a prose poem. If they're really bad feel free to let me know and I won't post poetry up here again. This is kinda an experiment. Have fun. Also the first poem should really be read with this playing in the background.

A Rain Sonnet -

Drips echo up in to my ear

Washing clean my cares and my fear

See it’s not the feel nor the sound

Wherein stormy pleasure is found.

Rather tis the thought may that I

Prove the sadness brought by the rain

Fiction, Fant’sy, and Brittle Lie –

Lies of sorrow, sadness, and pain

“sad is happy for deep people”

Just to feel is proof of my life

Life is not found in home’r steeple

But in good hope after strife

How can sadness stay here and not

Flee if’t exposes what I’ve got?

The Source of Utopia -

For me there is no single utopia. I am enthralled by the serene life of the countryside. The slow moving people. The sweet smelling wind. The sounds of life in its purest form.

Yet I find an equal peace in the city – in the hustle and bustle of the city. The speeding of the always-cycling train. The rising stench of a thousand hot dog stands. The dull roar of a city that won’t sleep.

For me, utopia is the progression of life reminding me I’m alive. Utopia isn’t a sight. Or a smell. Or a sound. It is the amazing variety of sights in every place. And the ever changing scent of the world. And the sounds of the different folk, flora, and fauna found throughout the earth.