Post by ozran on Aug 17, 2005 14:38:23 GMT -5
here she is in the morning, every day when I wake up,
There to tell me her problems until my ears turn to dust.
Like a peacock without a friend,
She sweetly talks without and end.
Like an Oprea play gone mad,
Like the howling wind gone sad,
Like a song that never stops,
Like running your ears till they drop.
Poor sweet soul killing thoughs around slowly
Poor killer dove that flys too soft.
Like sweeping a dusty road to clean,
Like living in a life long dream,
Like trying to jump to the moon,
Like a missing piece of funature in the room.
Chatter is her music she plays all day,
Until her friends and family leave and refuse to stay,
Too sad to live, but this story is true,
The moral of this story is dont let it happen to you.
Ozran
======================
Now this might seem kind of mean, but this poem is about my mother and how much she seems to talk about pointless things that people really dont wanna hear about but listen to her because they dont wanna be rude or make her feel bad.
There to tell me her problems until my ears turn to dust.
Like a peacock without a friend,
She sweetly talks without and end.
Like an Oprea play gone mad,
Like the howling wind gone sad,
Like a song that never stops,
Like running your ears till they drop.
Poor sweet soul killing thoughs around slowly
Poor killer dove that flys too soft.
Like sweeping a dusty road to clean,
Like living in a life long dream,
Like trying to jump to the moon,
Like a missing piece of funature in the room.
Chatter is her music she plays all day,
Until her friends and family leave and refuse to stay,
Too sad to live, but this story is true,
The moral of this story is dont let it happen to you.
Ozran
======================
Now this might seem kind of mean, but this poem is about my mother and how much she seems to talk about pointless things that people really dont wanna hear about but listen to her because they dont wanna be rude or make her feel bad.
A lonely world!