It smells like sherbet at midnight,
When my musings have run together in rainbow;
ruined streams reminding me of pre-imagined summers
Spent fanning away the slurping
Gone astray, fallen in,
Into forest-covered traps that hide closet romantics.
It's silly, I admit—
But since when have confessions solved anything?
So still I sit in this Technicolor puddle (mess),
Dripping in fantastical (impossible!) notions;
Scenarios running through my head, gleeful,
fermenting in love-sick attitudes
That get me nowhere fast.
It's all the same in any motion;
Still a dreamer's sigh,
still a dream,
Banana split reality.
fast and senseless! we're studying poetry in english. I never realized how much thought poets put into crafting poems. for me I just kind of vomit words without thinking! :)