wrote a poem in my religion class last week in the back of my notebook.
Voices echo off the shining street below.
My pillow beckons, but I cannot go.
Wonders of the world play from my fingertips
and my power is drainingly addictive.
The thoughts within my head are racing
and shaking
while my fingers tap a simple message.
The cold type freezes onscreen
unable to take back, unable to erase.
The question, the answer, the three words
the past and the present all together in one.
It's too late now, my heart is pouring out
like water from a bucket
faster, thicker, can't stop, pouring drop by drop
into on giant waterfall - -
god help you if you can't read my words,
heaven help you if you don't listen to me now.
i don't think i quite captured what i wanted to in the last stanza, because i am crap at wrapping poems up. and i don't have a title.
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