Poem from the Summer.
covering the real streetlight
in an oak's halo
where s h a t t e r e d rays
manage to escape,
countless leaves
caught the real luster
but black as night
rests the otherside
Published by Ziggy Mang
I write because the thoughts would otherwise
bleed through my head. I do not know if I am
ambitious anymore, I would just like to tell
everyone that since people like to think all
else. Everyone should be ambitious but I can
never feel it in me forever; every time I go
to sleep it seems like I just wake up, not a
dream or image comes to my mind except these
stale moments where everything I was the day
before becomes erased. The poems and stories
I write are who I am. They are the only bits
of myself that I can keep from each day. Its
not amnesia but I lose my head or else I can
see these thoughts bleeding through my head.
Can't you see that? Everyone else thinks I'm
crazy but I do know I am no oddity or artist
just that I am breathing words that can make
sense even if the images seem blurry or dim.
View all posts by Ziggy Mang
ANTHOLOGY OF A POLTROON 
Beautiful poem, great imagery! I’m intrigued to read more of your work :)