i sat reading a book
pondering on what i could ever possibly do
to make myself feel better
i glance at the clock
it is 2pm on a sullen sunday
i am filled with resentment
resentment towards myself,
towards them
they speak in a low tone
almost as if i cannot hear it,
as if i have to tune in to hear the muttering.
i take a glance into the mirror across from me
i do not recognize this face staring back at me
a bitter taste fills my mouth
what an odd face!
its not mine,
it doesnt feel right on this body.
so whose is it?
I look back at the clock,
it is now 8pm on this dreadful sunday.
where'd the time go?
i try to recall the time
nothing i can recollect in my mind,
i glance around the room.
the furnitures moved
and there happens to be notes left around,
it wasnt me leaving those notes,
they are in a different handwriting.
time flies.
Greeness can be creative
Shrubs can be cut into different shapes
Animals, umbrellas and furnitures
Vehicles can be creative
With different designs and shapes
Fruits can be creative
Can be cut into different characters
Flowers and birds for decorations
It is a marvelous creation of man
For the beauty of arts and their followers
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.