Love is too mushy
On a mushy mossy path I scramble to find it,
I look and I hear but ultimately I deny it.
Love, but what is it?
I won't let myself know.
Cause to know is to empower my self and I can't be free,
Not yet you see,
I'm going to be good enough soon,
but for now I'll wander through the swamp.
A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.
Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.
| Title | Comments | Submitted |
|---|---|---|
| Title | Comments | Submitted |
| Below The Surface | 0 | 10/09/2009 |
| Eyedia | 0 | 10/07/2009 |
| Going? | 0 | 10/04/2009 |
| I don't want to be free | 0 | 09/20/2009 |
| Love is too mushy | 0 | 09/08/2009 |
| On the Corner Of The World | 0 | 09/08/2009 |
Please login or register
You must be logged in or register a new account in order to
Login or Registerleave comments/feedback and rate this poem.