Too Much, Too Little, Too Early?

I realise I've been writing a lot of poetry lately. And I mean, A LOT.

What is it that has brought on this latest poetry drag? I thought my muse had somewhat ran away with my sixth sense of instrument recognisation, which I miss dearly. I used to be able to tell what instruments were playing in any song imaginable, but the sense has departed with my muse since last week. I hope they return soon. Or maybe my muse wil run off and drag ol' sixer back.

Yes, my imagination runs wild at times. Anywayyyys, here's another poem to keep me going.


Still Hoping

by Nat.


It's the marble of the floor
That makes it all the worse
I see your face in the tiles
Frowning all the more
It's the screaming and the begging
That makes you want to stop
Then the rage takes over
By then I'm still not crying
It's the torn pages across the room
That makes me want to sob
You couldn't wait to see me hurt
Not later, but now, and soon
It's the lack of faith you had
That made me open my eyes
There's someone watching over this house
Now it doesn't seem so bad
It's all the ones who made me believe
That I could still be saved
I'm still hoping for a change
On this last Christmas Eve.


Have a good school week guys.


Nat.