My Best Friend
Who will believe the poetic stories
Of your life, when its calmness comes?
When the threesome's in our talk's
Jump out of airplanes in a drunken stupor?
You will be but a pencil, for others
To ponder why they can't read.
Yet, your life was untrimmed
By the heinous eyes of failure.
You created a heaven,
An ornament for me
To fondly recall, anytime
The pressure seems rehearsed.
Copyright © Ferris Jones | Year Posted 2019
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment