New Poem

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I do not know what to title it. But I woke up feeling . . . strange and before I even did homework for the day, this came out. Comments welcome!

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Two birds
Build a Nest
Turn twigs into a home
Two birds soon turn into more
They fly away to other trees
And love grows slowly
And it grows softly
But there is so little love
So little love
That comes against the pettiness of man
Love
Love more than you hate
Smile more than you frown
Be in your nest, more than in the sky
Do not let man take away the home the gods have built inside you

If one takes everything else in the poem within the context of the last line, it's certainly a lot to think about.

Writing poetry is good to do. I haven't written much of it in the last dozen years or so, and none that I've done in that time has been satisfactory to me except the fun little Medieval parodies I've made. I guess my writing abilities are currently being channeled elsewhere for the time being. I'm glad you write poetry. Keep doing it!

Thanks. I used to love to write actual stories like short stories and novels but my character interactions can be rather . . . bad and I get overly descriptive. Other than drawing, poetry seems to be a good place to wander in.

i collect stuff
it's never enough
my place is a mess
this i will confess
i could be on the tube
like those other poor boobs
on TV shows about we hoarders
all disorganized old molderers
and all of us are so alone
with nobody which to atone
i'm only slightly blue
but don't know what to do.
my sis will inherit my mess
she will exclaim, "oh god bless"
or maybe a few different words
synonymous with fornicating turds
lord please help me
i pray to thee
i can't fix it all myself
i need providential help
otherwise one day they'll find my skeleton
under piles like a heap of rotten gelatin
and stinking to heavenly hell
with my spirit in heaven to dwell
but for ever and a day
in my real divine home to stay.

I liked this one, too =)