my neighbors
f our brain is wood, they are termites,
They devour the oak, beech, pine and even the redwood,
They are determined to reduce our dreams to dust,
our tables, our beds, our furniture, even our love in forest
If our brain is wood, they are termites,
The poet must resemble exotic woods to
not be eaten.
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
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
