Neon

I am fed up with my sad poetry
I wish I talked of bright lights
And spoilt neons
With rainbow colors

I am fed up with my infatuation with the real
If it is not a brain mushroom
I do not pick it up
And my brain likes it rough these days.

Me and my strange addiction
Always in the present
Never in the future
I have turned in a doctor
And all my patients are blue.

Reviews

[emmajoygreen]

Dissatisfaction is both enemy nearby or friend too far. Both have failings, palettes lacking. Yet somehow one copes. use thoughts decked in radiant colours and, perhaps - hope they are enough. If enough is ever enough! Whatever people say, each to his or her own walk.. there is choice available as to which way a path travels, this or that way. Perhaps? Your finely laid writing provokes thought and other contrivances!

[a_methyste]

Dissatisfaction is unfriendly in the present, maybe a messenger of something that is deep there and required a resolution and sometimes a jewel, a poetry in the past. There are a lot of angles for the same issue.

[emmajoygreen]

Very little is perfect, or, if the odd something occurs, then.. a minor miracle has also happened and we need laugh and dance. Am willing.. more than - oh lady with chapeau incroyable!

[a_methyste]

Yes for sure I would define it the 'odd something that occurs', and 'minor miracle'.... everything is psychedelic in here, strange mushroom, and for sure we touch, and rotate them in our hands, and gaze them for long, and also make seductive or simplistic songs, depending on the mood and weather, dear.

[emmajoygreen]

Smiling because that heals..

[a_methyste]

Yes indeed it does heal...

[Jibey]

A poet's brain embraces the here and now... it's the way it is... Hope is for the prophets, which poets sometimes become, unwrapping their message to dark world... No flashing

[a_methyste]

Yes I tend to describe what is there, without interfering.