Gave a non-rhyming poem a first shot

GalwayGuy2 · 2014-07-06 12:34:20

I cannot put a pot, into that sink, To wash. Or the dirt within its depths Will seep into my very skin. There may be food somewhere, Here, a half tomato moulds on the shelf, Over there, a jar of mustard, Everywhere, the ungent stink of rotten onions. This dry white rice Crawls with wet red Fleas and flies And is garnished…

06-07-2014 12:34PM

#1

GalwayGuy2

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I cannot put a pot, into that sink,
To wash.
Or the dirt within its depths
Will seep into my very skin.

There may be food somewhere,
Here, a half tomato moulds on the shelf,
Over there, a jar of mustard,
Everywhere, the ungent stink of rotten onions.

This dry white rice
Crawls with wet red
Fleas and flies
And is garnished with green silage.

A/N: So, what do you think of my 'cheerful' poem :P

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