Rolling stone

I yearn to write poems
lacy poems that thrill
and fancy poems that chill.
Shiver at the thoughts.
I desire happiness
and all that is exposed within me
is dark and gloomy.
Everyone flees
when my tears start

rolling down the street.
I pick up a stone
and chuck it to the side
of the road
where cars only travel
when they are in trouble.
A flat tire, a child
unruly in the back seat.
“Don’t make me stop this car!”

dad yells at me
most every day.
I cannot seem
to get this life right.
If only I were happy.
I could live my dreams
and change the world
Everyone would know love.
If only I were happy.
A walk in the park after the rainIs it asking too much?

I do not mean to bring
such despair along
packed in a suitcase
that travels with me,
along the side of the road.
I rest.
No harm in dreaming.
Unless…if only I were happy.

Photography Poetry

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