The rain hasn’t stopped for a day or three and they’re calling it the end of the world.
The moments are playing too fast, while
I’m doing what you like me to do; walking
down blackened roads (white skies below)
and to the side orange clouds are forming
and rustling everytime the pigeons
breathe, every breath, every moment
recorded on the shadows and shapes
of what you want me to be.
And we’re in class again and
as our legs meet under the
table, electricity passes through
all those tiny blue electrons fuse
red and pink and
black and
this is where I want to be; autumn
setting the scene to our
beautiful adventure beside the sea
Someone asked me about the title of this but I’m afraid I deleted my pm so I can’t remember who to reply to…
So yes, the title. 19 is my lucky number (wacky raffle thing when I was 9), is also the day of my birthday and this poem was the 19th I have wrote.
Would anyone care to make any comments…?