Matthew Kraft

The white sun fell while the Sun was down.
When the Sun rose the white sun started to fall.
In the light the white sun became many suns
Red suns, Blue suns, Green suns, Any Color suns.
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To some a paradise may be
A tropic island, sand, sun, a palm tree.
The temperature’s a balmy 72 degrees.
Seasons never change, it feels like purgatory.
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My(In Poetry I find me.
In Poetry I find others.
In Poetry I find my friends.
In Poetry I find my brothers
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This prison of the mind is a disgrace.
They can't trap your thoughts and ideas they said,
they lied to my face.
Nothing is flowing in my dead mind.
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This long hair sticks out of my chest.
I yank and pull with much distress.
I pull and strain with all of my might,
This mighty long hair is putting up a mighty long fight.
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When something is broke it is never truly broken.
A memory is just added where what’s missing should be.
Who is missing is never truly lost,
For the lost never know where they are.
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The cold
Never grows old.
The heat
Can’t be beat.
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These sleepless nights I lie awake
What is real and what is fake
This sleepless slumber will not end
Hours last for days and start to blend
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So I’m sitting on a park bench with my miscontent
My discontent.
For what surrounds me I see
I can’t be free
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