Unconsciously Conscious Thoughts
Up to my neck in forty winks,
Yet not enough sleep
Heavy blinks appear to weep
With blood-red tears,
As the solace of years
That pass against
One who is rather crass
No longer upper, middle, or lower classes,
Just the chosen few, & then the masses
Sewage trickles down,
Surrounds us & soaks the ground
Those simple thoughts,
Can make my head pound
Until i have found the inner peace
Within,
Relaxing in the mood to lounge
Verb-ally Intransitive
The last part of the stanza
Felt off, yet, felt right
To type, but, literature is a bonanza
Rich with words & letters
Don't be afraid to sound absurd,
Practice makes better
Never at the end of my tether
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