I wrote two poems this one was slightly less worse than the other and has loosely something to do with the picture above (well in my head ayway!)
and probably a touch of the balloon pic.
flew like a thousand red ballooons
reflecting sunrise in sunset ways,
but cold moons would drag me like the tide
away from my task.
Gun in hand,
mind over matter.
No matter how soft ,how sweet they sing,
a single shot will bring them down.
My moon is rising
I pull it's strings-Listen
how my comrades sing
life, hope and freedom .
Post your own poem on your blog and leave a message in my comments box letting me know so I can post a link to yours. Tanx ye!
First at the Bus stop are...
Wild Somerset Child
The Weaver Of Grass