Woodshed
"Our woodsheds empty,
So I think I'm heading home,
Its cold tonight,And I feel like I'm alone,
When your turned over, unaware,
Of the discomfort in the air"
i woke tonight, from an awful dream,
And couldn't find your heat,
i heard footsteps through unraked leaves,
And found myself alone, "Where are you going?"
"Our woodsheds empty,
So I think I'm heading home.
Poetry is not the expression of personality but an escape from personality.
T. S. Eliot (1888-1965) American-English poet and playwright.
| Title | Comments | Submitted |
|---|---|---|
| Title | Comments | Submitted |
| Saved | 4 | 01/04/2011 |
| My Actress | 3 | 01/04/2011 |
| Dead Profound | 3 | 01/04/2011 |
| Somber Day | 3 | 01/04/2011 |
| Tommorow Mornings Sunrise (Open Eyes) | 1 | 01/04/2011 |
| Desiderio Spiritual | 0 | 01/04/2011 |
| Smile at The Dawn | 1 | 01/03/2011 |
| Woodshed | 1 | 01/03/2011 |
| Last Wish | 2 | 01/03/2011 |
| Getting Through | 1 | 01/03/2011 |
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