I see things when I close my eye's to the violent of the night,

the sounds around me take there place,

inside my private mental space.

In my dreams, I some times cry,

folks come back who long since died,

the air in there is pure.

Sometimes I dream inside of dreams,

no one around to hear my screams,

death seems Oh! so pleasant.

I walk the roads of fever,

wisdom locked inside a mental prism,

a prison in my mind.

Death is a monkey jumping through the hoops, of the mystic boogaloo, the burning rings of fire.


Lust, and passion.

To build a mansion out of sand,

inside my mind, the mind of man,

to drift into the seasons,

(Dreaming, Dreaming, Dreaming,)

Someone stop that goddamn monkey screaming!!!!.

Comments 1 comment

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Darknlovely3436 5 years ago from NewYork

This is your best....love the humor, I can tell you given this piece your full attention.People use symbols to stand for things, they use similes and metaphors to compare things, and they use figuese of speech to make their words powerful and moving, Sucessful poets are masters of all these tool. "I love your monkey . Death is a monkey jumping from hoop to hoop.. you nail this poem.... well done

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