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 an expression of the party line. It's that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that's what the poet does.
Allen Ginsberg (1926-1997) U.S. poet.
| 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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