Celestial


Everywhere I go,
all I hear are whispers.
People are so slow,
causing their own blisters.
I'm really not to say,
because this is their own virtue.
I was once this way,
but all they do is try to curse you.

And it's really not a game,
only if and in the street.
And it's really all the same,
and they really shan't compete.
They'll say you rule or you're lame,
but it's socially divided.
Unless they really know your name,
then who can actually subside it?

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems


Share This Poem