There’s a place I go in hopes that giants have died.
That I may plunder the treasure which they have cast beside.
To clothe from the cold my pale Polish hide.
And in style and comfort to the sunset I’ll ride.
There's a place where I take my stains.
Where I take my clothes for a spin and a drain.
With cameras and guitars we tickle our brains.
Then we leave in silver trains.
Heavy on my feet I land
In the room where I cannot stand.
We play at cards and food and band
me and the friends I find so grand.
Liberal Theology, Liberal Politics
5 years ago
6 comments:
I like it. Its funny. And you have some cool lines in their. Like the end of the second stanza. But the whole waiting for giants to die idea, I think you could go miles further with that. Like, that is an idea that deserves way more than one limerick-ish stanza. It deserves an ode or a ballad or a magnificent stanza.
I agree, but my mom kept bugging me to write something so I just through that out there
I also agree about the giants. That was awesome.
Ewe guys are killing me.
Nice poem bro. I'm with Horace on giants. If not a poem, at least a story.
nice.
I keep on thinking of Shel Silverstein when I read this... I like it
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