every time it rain it pours
in the house the ceiling
falls on me rolling thunder
lightning strikes we don't get
along were always fighting
it won't be much longer I see
the sign a strong wind is
blowing a storm our way
I been through many mighty
winds before that failed to
knock me down it's sad when
a house is not a home
it feels like the Astrodome
don't know if I should stay
in place or evacuate
the choice is my decision
to make you baked me
a cake you say its fosted
with love but sorry doesn't
cut it you say if I leave
I'll be making a big mistake
but arent mistakes made
to make I don't have a
taste for sweets don't like
to throw food away you
been in the kitchen
preheating the oven planing
to bake all day but
too bad the cake
you baked gone to waste
The Immortal Wize
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Frostbitten (06162025)
CATEGORY
life
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OTHER POEMS WRITTEN BY The Immortal Wize
Frostbitten (06162025)every time it rain it pours in the house the ceiling falls on me rolling thunder lightning strikes we don't get along were always fighting it won't be much longer I see the sign a strong wind is blowing a storm our way I been through many mighty winds before that failed to knock me down it's sad when a house is not a home it feels like the Astrodome don't know if I should stay in place or evacuate the choice is my decision to make you baked me a cake you say its fosted with love but sorry doesn't cut it you say if I leave I'll be making a big mistake but arent mistakes made to make I don't have a taste for sweets don't like to throw food away you been in the kitchen preheating the oven planing to bake all day but too bad the cake you baked gone to waste  |
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The Silent Treatment (06042025)Treat Yourself To Silence |
My Sister Can't Fight (06042025)one time I fought a windmill and the thought of me fighting a windmill tickled me so much I lost the fight against the windmill I couldn't stop laughing she was all over the place I had no choice but to moved out the way
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Morning's Verse Of Life (06032025)time holds its breath before I draw my own the shadow of secrets whispers to me sipping tea in the ghetto in the kitchen taking note of music ringing in my in the hour of beginnings awaits the brush dipped in paint to written on lea... |