someday in my island

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    someday in my island

     maybe some day
    i'll have a way to say
    that i loved you
    my love will always be true
    on my island not soul wonderin
    but still im ponderin
    if maybe i'll see the touch of light
    im still dreamin
    i'll still venture on
    as i'm dyin
    all my mother does is cryin
    what happened to my freedom?
    what happened to liberty
    wheres all the money?
    we're all under politics control
    as im walkin into the forest
    i hear the sound of chrorus
    it hums a light tune than fades away
    don't cry now.......................

    life gets a little harsh
    life gets a little painful
    life gets a little crazy
    everyday we all grow lazy
    but the pain in our hearts
    will never die
    but we can't just sit and cry
    just hold hands and never
    say good bye
    never let em see
    our weaknesses
    our tactics
    our allies our hope
    let em just see the monsters they made

    -so just keep walkin threw the forest
    let the flowers see the chorus
    just don't cry
    and never say goodbye...

    refernces- this poem has 2 meanings it's all a rant really. the first discribes your mind, the second discribes how you need not to let life take control of you so just keep walkin

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    photochick commented on someday in my island

    07-04-2009

    great writing so full of emotions that many feel i felt and could imagine every word you wrote the flow and choice of words and structure of the words went together perfectly great poem i look forward to reading more
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    medicinenanie commented on someday in my island

    07-04-2009

    very deep, but a little confusing . who is "they"? IS your island your soul? Cuz that's how I took it. You hide your true feelings and can't get them out. the rythm flows, but you travel from one theme to another
    Reply to Comment

    clousxpain

    07/04/2009

    my island is my soul/mind it's your personal space your thoughts they means the haters our nightmares the things that we hate and hate us

    A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.

    Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

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