Thread: Good day, Herr Poem

Sound waves, richochet
off the walls. I can feel them in my fingertips.
Yet everytime I extend my palm I lose the feeling.
This is my home, but it is only a house.
The house becomes a cavern, where echoes are lost in
loopholes. Except the cavern is bright...so bright I can't see.
I can feel you, tuning in; my teeth are frequencies.
I can feel you, but can you feel the vibrations?
The station starts to broadcast the sound.
Yet everytime I try to wake up, I fall back to the ground and rise up
again in harmony with the forgotten nation.
The page turns with me, and closes abruptly.
Perhaps there is an end to the waves, which spin me in the cavern.
The cavern is not the station.


And now a happy, happy poem!

Happy, kindness, peace!
No more violence...uh, peace!
I want a cake....a piece!
But please don't put any grease!
Happy, kindness, peace!

*looks around* Ugh....yep.


About real poem, I don't really have meter or anything of the sort, just some quick ryhmers here and there sprinkled for...goodness I geuss.