HOW IS IT MADE?

Colder than it was in summer
Evenings now seem to go by
Super quickly so that life seems
Too fast and free, and crying
Frustrated by all that is and
All that isn't. Why should we,
Inch worms on a forgotten tree,
Tarry over flimsy dreams, filaments
Carrying a million untoward,
Obscure echoes, like dust of our
Militant million, a person isn't
Money, money represents begging,
Ears aren't mouths, there is a rough
Nuance which seems strange
Though that is to be unknown...?

Reviews

[michelle]

I have really enjoyed reading some of your poetry but this one stood out to me in particular. 'Evenings now seem to go by / Super quickly so that life seems / TOO fast and free, and crying' [...] These are my favourite lines, I like the way they flow and the weight of emotion that they carry. thanks