Sweet morning seranade, a symphony of sounds. Oh brilliant overture, Where words are never found. She sighs and I gasp, prickly love in the green grass. Kiss me yet again, I want to taste your breath. I give and give, until nothing is left. One mind one soul, beneath the rising sun. One dream one heart, destined to come undone.
No offense, but that's about as ironic as the fact that black is the opposite of white. I liked this poem, but there's no irony...perhaps you might want to read up on what irony is?
I was just stoned and replying a little cryptically, life and death, being metophorical for the personal irony relayed in this poem. Life referring to the beauty that I see in everything and death reffering to the lengths that I will go to see it destroyed (often before the experience occurs).
ah. well, that isn't extremely clear in the poem, anyways. All you said is "destined to come undone" which is pretty ambiguous. Still a good poem though.
i don't like my poems spoon fed to me; unless i'm in the mood. thereby i thought it kicked serious ass. well done, cryptic, i really enjoyed the lines: She sighs and I gasp, prickly love in the green grass it's fun to say. thanks for sharing, bro.
