Welcome to The Dreamer's Dreaming, wherein all of his thoughts, poetics, and other random thoughts reside. This is not a blog, but a collection of his poetry in installments, and additions. Comments, criticism, and corrections are appreciated.
Entry 1: Sitting, Waiting, Wishing Notes: Title from Jack Johnson's song; written in boredom during physics; to be read and performed Slam style, or simply read.
Sitting in the parkside, my eyes look out at the gentille breeze caressing the green grass, fluttering the glassy orchids against their simple lattice. The bliss of the children playing around with their sounds of noisemaking along with the throwing of their playthings gives me no reprieve as I fidget around, waiting. The collegiates run by, in their sweats and tennis shoes, with their headphones singing blues, the volume letting loose their melody across the street, as they keep on going onto the homeliness of city life. There's life everywhere around me, the birds in the air with different plumes and exotic fumes from the world and beyond. There's no fondness for one place or another, just the horizon and the flutter of their own wings. I'm still waiting, my fingers dancing over the hem of my shirt, looking for the workingman's suit. My teeth pull on the inside of my cheek, worrying. The wind whirls by, bringing my attention on the gentleman walking down the sidewalk, his black suit freshly pressed, his eyes downcast and depressed. His senses draw his vision upward, his words not reaching my ears and I hear nothing, but blood pumping furiously through my veins. His smile as he sees me, is worth a thousand waits. A thousand nervous breakdowns. His hair stands at attention, shifting from their downward motion, their ends highlighted brightly blonde. Dark hair, dark eyes, such a mysterious gentleman. But he sits down, his hands around mine, the time passing us back, as we sit, waiting, and wishing for more time like this.
Private Mod Note
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hear me; there's a reason behind everything i do with you
thanks for the card topher
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Entry 1: Sitting, Waiting, Wishing
Notes: Title from Jack Johnson's song; written in boredom during physics; to be read and performed Slam style, or simply read.
Sitting in the parkside, my eyes look out at the gentille breeze caressing the green grass, fluttering the glassy orchids against their simple lattice. The bliss of the children playing around with their sounds of noisemaking along with the throwing of their playthings gives me no reprieve as I fidget around, waiting. The collegiates run by, in their sweats and tennis shoes, with their headphones singing blues, the volume letting loose their melody across the street, as they keep on going onto the homeliness of city life. There's life everywhere around me, the birds in the air with different plumes and exotic fumes from the world and beyond. There's no fondness for one place or another, just the horizon and the flutter of their own wings. I'm still waiting, my fingers dancing over the hem of my shirt, looking for the workingman's suit. My teeth pull on the inside of my cheek, worrying. The wind whirls by, bringing my attention on the gentleman walking down the sidewalk, his black suit freshly pressed, his eyes downcast and depressed. His senses draw his vision upward, his words not reaching my ears and I hear nothing, but blood pumping furiously through my veins. His smile as he sees me, is worth a thousand waits. A thousand nervous breakdowns. His hair stands at attention, shifting from their downward motion, their ends highlighted brightly blonde. Dark hair, dark eyes, such a mysterious gentleman. But he sits down, his hands around mine, the time passing us back, as we sit, waiting, and wishing for more time like this.