The Mind of Poetry
The Virus
Slithering among the tree tops,
Cackling at the fearful ground,
Dancing softly on tips of leaves,
Swirling my arms all around.
Descending down from the skies,
To satisfy my inner hunger,
Dwelling among the breathing air,
To feed on the ecstatic thunder.
Wiggling up,to create my path,
Inside the nostrils of fear,
Down upon organs of hope,
Infecting all who's far and near.
Forcing you to scatter quietly,
And covering your faces of shame.
Slamming you done with sickness,
Pointing at others to do the same.
My tentacles slap the world,
And force "ME," to be the norm.
Close your doors my dear,
And embrace my cunning storm.
Web
Cackling at the fearful ground,
Dancing softly on tips of leaves,
Swirling my arms all around.
Descending down from the skies,
To satisfy my inner hunger,
Dwelling among the breathing air,
To feed on the ecstatic thunder.
Wiggling up,to create my path,
Inside the nostrils of fear,
Down upon organs of hope,
Infecting all who's far and near.
Forcing you to scatter quietly,
And covering your faces of shame.
Slamming you done with sickness,
Pointing at others to do the same.
My tentacles slap the world,
And force "ME," to be the norm.
Close your doors my dear,
And embrace my cunning storm.
Web
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The Virus
The Virus
