A little girl sat on the ground with a box in her hand I thought it might've just been full of plain old sand She smiled and her buck teeth showed through her grin Our eyes were in connection except when I took a sip of my gin
Drunk as a bat I did not know what to do or say I just watched the little girl sitting there today I had to be dreaming, I tried to tell my doubt It was answered with a simple pout
I stumbled over almost losing grip of the drink in the brown paper bag It was the cheapest one on the shelf said the price tag The girl was sitting there still with her hands holding the red box She had freckles that dotted her face as though she had chicken pox
Her flaming red hair was tightly wound up in a series of curls And around her neck was a single line of exotic white pearls She couldn't have been more than the age of eight or nine And right next to her as she sat there, was a STOP sign
Regardless of what the stop sign told me to do or what not to do I still continued on slowly, as though I was in a slow moving queue I finally got to be in front of the little girl and I dropped to my knees "Would you?" she asked me, and I frowned in confusion. "Play my game, please."
I nodded not knowing what the outcome might indeed bring She opened the box and an angelic voice started to sing I thought I had drunken too much but this way beyond a joke I needed to go home, get sober, hit the bath and just soak
"You are the one that has made here to this park You are the one that has ignited my spark You have now been tricked into believing that this little girl is real Before I am over and you have been lost, her name is Lucille."
I don't know what happened next but the next thing I remember I was at home Or I think I was, until I saw the sign at the end of the tub 'Welcome to Rome' I've learnt my lesson I have concluded That drinking makes me even more deluded
Not another sherry or another vodka down the hatch Not another pint of beer or so, or even possibly a batch I think I know what this girl was really telling me in the end I should stop writing poems about my drunkness, but when?
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God Bless Us Everyone We are a broken people living under a loaded gun
Not bad at all for a random poem. I would've wanted to see more metaphors but that's just me. It was nice how you left untold what happened after he opened the box in my opinion, and ignoring a few spots the rhyming was brilliant. Maybe a bit more descriptions would've served the poem better (for example, what was the box like besides the color?), but you were able to express the story smoothly and in a way that was well-written and that's what's important. I personally found it inspiring. Good work.
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Dreaming of Zion, Awake Sleeping Awake.
"We’ve never tried to come off as better than our fans, our fans... when they come to see us play, they’re actually a part of, you know, us playing. Sonny, the way he is on stage, he connects with them, emotional and in every kind of way you can imagine, you know, musically, and I think that they can see that it’s not, you know, a put on, it’s not something that’s fake, it’s real." - Mark Daniels of P.O.D.
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