They Use Talking For Communication
My parents were making a funny noise,
While looking each other in the face,
I was busy playing with my toys,
It was like a drone from outer space.
The aliens have landed I suddenly thought,
They were making a terrible din,
I'd hide in here in case I get caught,
I could feel them get under my skin.
I text my friend to ask if he knew,
Did his parents do much the same?
He e: mailed back saying he just withdrew,
Whenever they played that silly game.
I decided this needed looking at,
Were all adults really that sad?
It's a bit like watching a dog and a cat,
Could our elders be all barking mad?
As I roamed the streets it was total despair,
For this grunting they all had a craving,
All I could do was just stop and stare,
Everywhere I looked they were ranting and raving.
I then visited my Grandparents house,
Gran was holding something attached to a wire,
Granddad was squeaking like a stamped on mouse,
Of this adult behaviour I was beginning to tire.
I then ran home and tabled all my friends,
This madness had gone too far,
Into the depths this adult behaviour descends,
It's disgraceful and totally bizarre.
I went on to the web to the history page,
Could they possibly shed any light?
What I found out put me in a rage,
This just couldn't possibly be right.
In the past this was an ancient way to learn,
It was prevalent throughout our planet,
This was causing me great concern,
I must find a way now I can ban it.
This is something the young could never endorse,
It's a primitive form of oration,
It will never catch on it fills us with remorse,
Related quotes
Baby vs Adult
Baby is dumb
Adult has wisdom
Babies are small and crawl
Adults are tall and fall
Baby demands
Adult commands
Baby yearns to walk
Adult learns to work
Baby weeps
Adult sleeps
You carry a baby
You marry an adult
Baby chokes
Adult smokes
Baby stays at home to play
Adult brings home the pay
Baby cries
Adult sighs
Baby spikes milk
Adults like silk
And I saved this for the last
Baby at birth
Adult at death
Baby vs Adult becomes a thing of the past
poem by Sylvia Chidi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Way
My Dad said son I'll teach you to drive,
Very soon on the road you'll thrive,
Driving will make you come alive,
Just listen to what I have to say.
Out we went he said to learn,
I hope you won't give me concern,
My total respect you'll have to earn,
I will not lead you astray.
Bad habits will not be tolerated,
Good ones will be celebrated,
Mistakes you make will be berated,
That's the message to you I convey.
Off I travelled on my first trip,
That's when he made his first quip,
Before long he was giving me lip,
He was filling me with dismay.
At other motorists he started to shout.
Common decency he did flout,
If truth be told he behaved like a lout,
My Dad was causing affray.
He was mild mannered when in the house,
Calm and docile as quiet as a mouse,
Yet here he was behaving like a louse,
It was a really terrible display.
He said when you get behind the wheel,
A secret to you I will reveal,
Fighting with others has a certain appeal,
It sounded like a cliché.
What happens to people when they enter a car?
They behave like some dictatorial tsar,
Suddenly their demeanour becomes so bizarre,
Their own principles they totally betray.
If you want to learn, forget family members,
The bad habits taught everyone remembers,
They can be as dangerous as burning embers,
Your first licence you will only delay.
I've now given up the lessons with my Dad,
Trying to learn from him was totally mad,
Now I've passed my test I feel so glad,
I Decided To Do It,
‘' My Way ‘'
My Red House
My Red House
Be quiet as a mouse
I once played in that red house
Shy was I, like a little mouse
Tippy toed I went looking around
Giggling, without making any sound
Happy was I to run around and play
My very own home to live and stay
My Red House
Be quiet as a mouse
Darkness came swiftly one night
A sense of something was not quite right
The shadows came across the wall
Covering my eyes, ready for my fall
The sounds of whips and chains dragged
against the floor
The sheer terror numbed me from looking
passed that door
My Red House
Be quiet as a mouse
The darkness slowly turned to grey
The black clouds lifting away
No longer trapped, I did not need to stay
Free was I to let go and make my own way
So ever slowly, opening that door
I could see the light and so much more
My Red House
Be quiet as a mouse
Changing and always moving
Never stopping and always wanting
Step by step, I shed all those tears
One at a time, I climbed up those stairs
Moving closer to where I want to be
No longer a child but an adult me
My Red House
Be quiet as a mouse
I came home today
The Red House, same as it was yesterday
Slowly, walking up that hill
Everything seems to be in a stand still
I could only stay for a while
Before the darkness comes within a mile
My Red House
Be quiet as a mouse
The breath of life you gave to me
But took away the child within me
No longer a pawn to your destruction
I have found my peace and resolution
Turning away towards the path of light
I see a very beautiful sight
My Red House
There is no longer a mouse
poem by Miu Miu Ayushi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Children Need To Grow
children need to grow
catalysis into their
personality eventually
be their own men
or women
less like their own
mother father
if they are to reach their
full potential
children will learn
a lot very quickly
in years one to five
by about age
eighteen
all confident
young adults
will know
everything
then very soon
many with
half a brain 18
to 20 who knew
everything
at about 20 to 21
will learn
just how much
they did
not know
possibly be amazed
how much
their parents
suddenly know
about real life
not knowledge
but subtle
interacts of life
poem by Terence George Craddock
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As Parents To Our Parents
They never teach you this at school;
they'll try to teach you reading, writing, 'rithmetic
in their own instructed ways;
but now, if anyone suggested it, there'd be howls
about the impertinence, the interference,
the rights, the dangers of this and that -
but all the same, they never teach you:
how to get on with your parents.
Oh there are books and books and books
telling your parents how to look after you, but hey!
there are two parties here! Mom and Dad
can ask their own parents (sometimes - because they
were in the same situation as you are now and so,
reckon they can do a better job...) but
who can you, ask?
Philip Larkin told us memorably that
'they f*** you up, your Mum and Dad',
which may not be the case for all of us;
Hindus have their own stern answer to this question:
you chose them, in effect, as the result
of your behaviour in your previous life...so there,
work with that, kiddo, could be
the making of you...stop blaming it all on them!
So there you are, in this heated cauldron of love and hate, or
like sharp stones shaken in this bag called family
until the rough edges wear (each other) away and
those smooth round pebbles roll out to the world...
but perhaps a little help wouldn't hurt?
I was exactly four and a half when I told the truth about something,
since I didn't know any other way; and as my parents' voices
rose in argument about 'knowing what was best for me',
(I remember the moment now, so clear) I turned my back
on this so painful sound, faced the 'wireless' on the chest of drawers,
and decided there and then
that grown-ups made such a fuss when you told the truth
that it would be better not to - at least, until
they grew up a bit... and there, went half a lifetime
of prevarication, dodging the question, fantasy: never tell the truth
until you're sure they really, really want to hear it...
Then when I was eleven or thereabouts
(and again, I remember exactly where I was standing
at the time - the bottom of the stairs)
the solemn thought 'entered my head':
that in some way I knew but couldn't quite explain,
I was in the position, had some duty,
to take care, in some thoughtful way, of the minds of those
my parents...
But they didn't teach that at my school.
love, I knew all about; but
parents? Aren't they strange? They try so hard, too...
and no, I don 't need 'counselling', thanks -
I'd rather keep it in the family. All I'm asking
is, a few lessons, maybe? I'd even do
the homework.
XXX love you both XXX
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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We as parents to our parents
They never teach you this at school;
they'll try to teach you reading, writing, 'rithmetic
in their own instructed ways;
but now, if anyone suggested it, there'd be howls
about the impertinence, the interference,
the rights, the dangers of this and that -
but all the same, they never teach you:
how to get on with your parents.
Oh there are books and books and books
telling your parents how to look after you, but hey!
there are two parties here! Mom and Dad
can ask their own parents (sometimes - because they
were in the same situation as you are now and so,
reckon they can do a better job...) but
who can you, ask?
Philip Larkin told us memorably that
'they f*** you up, your Mum and Dad',
which may not be the case for all of us;
Hindus have their own stern answer to this question:
you chose them, in effect, as the result
of your behaviour in your previous life...so there,
work with that, kiddo, could be
the making of you...stop blaming it all on them!
So there you are, in this heated cauldron of love and hate, or
like sharp stones shaken in this bag called family
until the rough edges wear (each other) away and
those smooth round pebbles roll out to the world...
but perhaps a little help wouldn't hurt?
I was exactly four and a half when I told the truth about something,
since I didn't know any other way; and as my parents' voices
rose in argument about 'knowing what was best for me',
(I remember the moment now, so clear) I turned my back
on this so painful sound, faced the 'wireless' on the chest of drawers,
and decided there and then
that grown-ups made such a fuss when you told the truth
that it would be better not to - at least, until
they grew up a bit... and there, went half a lifetime
of prevarication, dodging the question, fantasy: never tell the truth
until you're sure they really, really want to hear it...
Then when I was eleven or thereabouts
(and again, I remember exactly where I was standing
at the time - the bottom of the stairs)
the solemn thought 'entered my head':
that in some way I knew but couldn't quite explain,
I was in the position, had some duty,
to take care, in some thoughtful way, of the minds of those
my parents...
But they didn't teach that at my school.
love, I knew all about; but
parents? Aren't they strange? They try so hard, too...
and no, I don 't need 'counselling', thanks -
I'd rather keep it in the family. All I'm asking
is, a few lessons, maybe? I'd even do
the homework.
XXX love you both XXX
[revisited]
poem by Michael Shepherd
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I Sit Back And Think
I sit back and think
What do young ones really know?
How to be a mother
A friend who really knows
Then you meet a young person
With ideals and their dreams
And suddenly your face
With an adult not a kid
You know not their past
Of teething and games
That’s a life you have with your own
You look past the youthful
Way that they are
And let them be humans
And live life to the full
We use to be young
At one stage of our lives
What makes us different?
Is were older and wiser
So we like to think
So I say with a smile
To young adults of this world
I bow down low and say
Hello my friend
We may be much older
And wiser we think
But at times you surprise us
With love and wisdom
That is beyond all your years
And yes I bow and acknowledge you all
Simply because you’re our future
Leaders of tomorrow
Good luck to you all
poem by Kaila George
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Missing
Has anybody seen my mouse?
I opened his box for half a minute,
Just to make sure he was really in it,
And while I was looking, he jumped outside!
I tried to catch him, I tried, I tried....
I think he's somewhere about the house.
Has anyone seen my mouse?
Uncle John, have you seen my mouse?
Just a small sort of mouse, a dear little brown one,
He came from the country, he wasn't a town one,
So he'll feel all lonely in a London street;
Why, what could he possibly find to eat?
He must be somewhere. I'll ask Aunt Rose:
Have you seen a mouse with a woffelly nose?
He's just got out...
Hasn't anybody seen my mouse?
poem by Alan Alexander Milne
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Monstrare
This house a dictatorship
Learn to shut your mouth and follow directions
Or receive punishments
For your treason
You get under my skin
And leave your marks
Like footprints in the snow
Except your boots are laced with a virus
'Cause you're making me sick
This house is a dictatorship
Follow the rules and shut your mouth
Or hear the mouth of the one
That controls you with force
Stand before the almighty and choke on your words
And tremble in fear as she screams, shouts
Yells and roars
Out of frustration
This house is a dictatorship
'Cause my voice is silenced,
My actions are limited,
My thoughts are undermined
Listen to yourself and
Listen to no one else
Because you're the 'boss'
Of this world
Or just the boss of this house
This house is a dictatorship
'Cause I'm chained to the fence
Like some wild animal
That can't be trusted
I wonder if you really trust me
Let alone understand me
'Cause if you don't,
What's the point of being a good child?
This house is a dictatorship
'Cause your word is always right
And mine is always wrong
Even though you're never right about everything
Nearing eighteen with the mind of an adult
Just like you, I'm smart too
But in your eyes, I'm still five
And I can't possibly know anything
This house a dictatorship
'Cause you don't bother to comfort me
When I need it most
In the darkest of times
You refuse to talk to me
About anything
So how am I supposed to
Know what you're feeling and thinking?
This house is a dictatorship
'Cause you always yell and scream
Until your throat goes hoarse
And you do it with no remorse
You see things from your own perspective
And you dread compromise
'Cause it's either your way
Or no way at all
But things have changed
Now I speak my mind
Because I'm no longer a shy ten year old child.
Now I tune out your yelling and screaming
Because I'm no longer a scared ten year old child.
Now I don't speak a word at home
Because there's no point.
Now I lose myself in Xbox and the computer
Because I can't talk to you.
It's not even about being disobedient
Or disrespectful.
It's about not being a kid anymore
And not being treated like the young adult I am.
And I know for certain
That this house is a dictatorship
'Cause you'll be mad if you read this,
Even though there isn't another way;
Even though you made it this way.
poem by Ronnell Evans
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Black History Month
In January...
There they are making history.
In February...
There they are making history.
In March...
There they are making history.
In April...
There they are making history.
In May...
There they are making history.
In June...
There they are making history.
In July...
There they are making history.
In August...
There they are making history.
In September...
There they are making history.
In October...
There they are making history.
In November...
There they are making history.
In December...
There they are making history.
But...
It's nice to know
The shortest month of the year
Was chosen to celebrate
The great deeds of African-Americans!
However...
It is those LEAP YEARS,
That really have the blacks jumping for joy!
Note: 'Black History Month' along with other
works of interest can be found in...
*'MindPrints from Untouched Places-VOL I'*
~Now available online at a PC near you~
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Olden Days
Reminiscing on wanting the ice cream truck to stop near my house
Watching Cinderella and saying thats one friendly mouse
Playing outside for hours and never wanting it to end
Drawing with chalk was the newfound trend
Dreading taking a bath or cleaning up at all
Thinking every adult is extremely tall
Hanging with your parents everyday
Sharing your dolls so all your friends could play
Scraping your knees and thinking life can't get any worse
Loving the idea of eventually having a purse
Smiling over the stupidest things
Thinking you could fly if you just had wings
I'm missing those days as I sit here today
Saying when did life decide to turn out this way?
poem by Rebecca Bell
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zy A Mousetrap (a Fable ~ Author Unknown)
A country mouse heard a rustling noise and looked through a crack in the wall to see what might be going on. He saw the farmer and his wife opening a box. To the mouse’s great dismay the box contained a mousetrap. Alarmed the mouse rushed out to the farmyard to spread a warning. “There is a mousetrap in the house! There is a mousetrap in the house! ”
The chicken, who had been clucking and scratching the earth, raised her head and said: “Mr. Mouse I can tell this is a grave concern to you, but it is of no consequence to me. So I shall not allow myself to be bothered by it.”
The mouse turned to the pig and told him: “There is a mousetrap in the house! There is a mousetrap in the house! The pig sympathized, but said; “I am so very sorry Mr. Mouse, but there is nothing I can do about it. Be assured however, that you will be in my prayers”.
Next the mouse went to the cow and repeated his alarm: “There is a mousetrap in the house! There is a mousetrap in the house! ”. The cow looked at him and said: “Gee Mr. Mouse that’s is to bad for you, but it’s no skin off my nose”.
Mr. Mouse returned to the farmhouse head down and dejected. Left to face the mousetrap alone. That very night the loud snap of a mousetrap snapping shut was heard throughout the farmhouse.
The farmers wife got up from bed and rushed out to see what had been caught in the trap. In the darkness she did not see that it was a venomous snake which had gotten its tail caught in the trap. As she stepped near the trap the snake struck out and bit her on her foot. The farmer rushed her to the hospital where the doctors gave the only treatment available but could not guarantee a full recovery. The farmer’s wife asked to be allowed to return to the farmhouse to recuperate.
Once home the farmer’s wife continued to feel ill. She developed a fever so the farmer, hoping to make her feel well, went out to the farmyard and killed the chicken to make his wife some soup. But her sickness continued and many friends and neighbors stopped by to wish her well and offer assistance. Grateful for their concern the farmer went out to the farmyard and slaughtered the pig so that he could feed the well-wishers.
Alas the farmer’s wife continued to decline in health and after some days she passed away. Knowing that many friends and relatives would arrive for the funeral the farmer had the cow butchered so that he would have meat to feed these mourners.
The mouse could only watch from his little crack in the wall. Saddened at the loss of his farmyard friends, but knowing that he had done all he could to warn them of the danger posed by the mousetrap.
The next time you hear someone is facing a problem and shares their concern with you, Remember the story of the Mr. Mouse and the mousetrap. We are all connected in life in what may seem mysterious ways, so when one of us is threatened we are all at risk.
Author Unknown
poem by Mary Havran
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Blessed with friends
I was praying God to be blessed with friends
Friends with close attachment till the end
I could find hardly few as I it was difficult to get
I thought of leaving the effort and decided to forget
When I was small kid there was company kids from near by
Thy were eager to come near and were making frantic try
We would then play with toys and make some fun
On little excitement or quarrel they will try to go away or run
In school also some of the boys were very nice and intelligent
They will make all the times with their funny comments
We will play together and depart with compel enjoyment
It was nice spending with happiest moments
The young was like spring season
I had lot of excitement with reason
I was becoming fully grown adult
Stamina as such was high and inbuilt
Now it was field for me to venture
The school had given us vivid aspects of future
Whole life was before us to explore
The thrust and bold approach required was more
I had enough time to keep trusted friends in the circle
Some of them were since childhood and few joined from school
Little can be said about who were intelligent or fool
But I was surrounded by many and company was full
I could well assess what was good or bad
Sometimes it was making me very sad
I will think seriously about the repercussions
After I had brief or lengthy discussion
Some of the friends had made sincere inroad
They were not nuisance or of any burden with load
I took it casually as an extension of human nature
But still it remained my grave concern to make it doubly sure
There were some more friends in me already
They were waiting for golden chance and ready
Normal friends would go off with little displeasure
But these friends were already seated in for pleasure
I can name only few to be more precise
I should be called fool if not wise
People may question what is new in my disclosure?
They are with all and firmly placed and can be called impure
They were of course undesired in any form
I still decided to remain well informed
I shall keep them away and keep the distance
If possible to get rid of them at once
It is easy to talk of high order
You will loose control with slight anger
Annoyance is even worst than hunger
We can keep them not any longer
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Livin' In A World
Children are called the future of an adult world
They are born with spirits so innocent
Til we teach them how to hate
Add to the world's confusion
We teach our kids rules
That we don't adhere to ourselves
Right or wrong
What example can they take
The people we learn from
Forge the ideas we become
Living in a world they didn't make
Living in a world that's filled with hate
Living in a world where grown-ups break the rules
Living in a world they didn't make
Paying for a lot of adult mistakes
How much of this madness can they take
Our children
Children grow to become our young adults
Problems of the world
They must learn how to confront
Doing drugs and joining gangs to rebel
Colors show they belong
To the social override
Cause they're living in a space
They feel out of place
Living in a world they didn't make
Living in a world that's filled with hate
Living in a world where grown-ups break the rules
Living in a world they didn't make
Paying for a lot of adult mistakes
How much of this madness can they take
Our children
song performed by by Janet Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Honesty
When I was young I lacked the sense
to realise I’d cause offence.
By asking questions frequently
and challenging authority.
I asked because I wanted to
believe that what you said was true.
But you denied me a reply
and I was left to wonder why.
Children should be seen not heard.
To my young mind was just absurd.
I think you were afraid to show
There were some things you did not know.
So you forfeited my respect.
I learnt thenceforward to expect
From most adults dishonesty
Because they could not possibly.
In any shape or form confess
that they might possibly know less.
Much less than what they thought they knew
and passing time has proved it true.
If I am asked I find it best
to admit that I fail the test
and simply state that I don’t know
but that I do know where to go.
I recommend the library
where you may find quite easily
The answer that I can’t supply.
I find that’s satisfactory.
12-Nov-07
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Oh!
We met as two consenting adults in some
Busy, crowded malls, and we offered our true names,
We like each other, we love the way we talk
It was easy, we are two consenting adults and we
Met again somewhere, not in the crowded mall
Not in the busy street, not in the church to pray,
We are lovers, we are two consenting adults,
We are the new lovers, and we know what is the
Secrecy of love its sanctity when we as consenting adults
Met again, and we are naked,
We have embraced ourselves as truths not as lies
In the open
In our openness, we swallowed ourselves in utter openness
We welcome what happened
We said it was wonderful we want to meet again and feel
So wonderful
We have the will, we have the free will, we are free
Then you said something while you were alone and distant
Yes it was wonderful but it was when I lost my senses,
You chided me, you were lost when we did something wonderful
And you said it was something dirty, you have indulged in the
Arms of the wrong person, in the wrong hours, in the wrong places,
You even vomited what wonderful was it that was swallowed
By you as a consenting adult, and I as a consenting adult
I thought it is wonderful and I always
Think it is wonderful, I do not know what dirty is
I was not raised in dirt, I do not know dirt, I am not dirty
Days and days, you reflected upon its wonder, the wonder of what we did and you call me back, you emailed, you texted
You like to meet me again in some crowded malls, in some busy streets we start all over again to trace the maze of amazement again
You offer your true name again, your senses in full you smile
You are a traffic sign blinking the green for go again
The wrong person is here, he is now lost in his senses too,
You called the wrong number, you emailed the wrong mails,
You texted the wrong number, you will be calling the wrong person
That wrong person has gone away, he is the wrong person to your
Thousand eyes and he has no more reason left to stay. He cannot wait for you, the malls are crowded, the streets are busy, and the door of
The house is now closed. And he is now the traffic sign which blinks
The red for stop.
There is no one to be blamed, It is our upbringing that brings
the end.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Silly Game
I never thought u would be the one
That Id wanna run 2
I never thought u would be the one
That would make me care
And even tho u done me wrong
4 some strange reason I cant xplain
I get happy knowing u phoned
Cuz your voice could kill my every pain
Why do we play this silly game?
I never thought u would be the one
That Id wanna give 2
A diamond ring, anything that u ask me 2
But there u were, bragging 2 your friends
Making up a story thats so lame
That I was down 2 be your sugardaddy
One way ticket to ghetto fame
Why do we play this silly game?
Every other night u werent at home
Out in the streets, just acting grown
Never with a bodyguard or chaperone
Then I hear a rumour that breaks my heart
Instead of taking care of yourself
Ure tearing yourself apart
Now why u wanna
(why u wanna, why u wanna ...)
Now why u wanna go and do that, love?
Why do we play this silly game?
I never thought u would be the one
(that Id wanna run 2) that Id wanna run 2
I never thought ud be the one
That would make me care
No matter how far I run
Ill never be the same (Ill never be the same)
In the end, in the end, theres only us 2 blame
Why do we play this ...
Why do we play this silly ...
Why do we play this silly game?
Yeah
Ooh-ooh
Tell me why? (tell me why? )
Oh why? (oh why? )
Oh why - why?
Why do we play this silly game?
Game
song performed by by Prince
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I'd just play 'til my hands fell off. My parents would yell at me to stop because they couldn't stand the noise any more! I was terrible! It must have been hard for them to listen to me as a beginning drummer.
quote by Randy Castillo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Faded
When I get you all alone
I'm gonna move in nice and close
Nobody gonna interrupt my game
Ever since you've been hanging around
I've been trying to figure
What I can say to you to get some play
Couldn't we do that thing we did last night again
Baby you and I'd be better than friends
Don't you think it's time we went a bit further
Every night when we say goodbye
How can I help looking in your eyes?
Wondering why you and I haven't hit it
Can we get it on?
I'm kinda faded but I feel alright
Thinkin' about making my move tonight
I can't pretend that you're only my friend
When you're holding my body tight
Cause I like the way you're making it move
I like the way you're making me wait
At the end of the night when I make up your mind
You'll be coming on home with me
Yeah you know you got it
And you know I want it
I can't wait to take you home
(You know you got it and I)
I don't wanna be rude at all
I just wanna be where you go
Think what we could do alone
Couldn't we do that thing we did last night again
Baby you and I'd be better than friends
Don't you think it's time we went a bit further
Every night when we say goodbye
How can I help looking in your eyes?
Wondering why you and I haven't hit it
Can we get it on?
I'm kinda faded but I feel alright
Thinkin' about making my move tonight
I can't pretend that you're only my friend
When you're holding my body tight
Cause I like the way you're making it move
I like the way you're making me wait
At the end of the night when I make up your mind
You'll be coming on home with me
When we first met
That deal was stated
You stepped like my steez
The way we conversated
Just another day
Around the way
With me up close everything's ok
Cuz I'm not like the rest
Indecision with the best
Thrust from a full court press
Just because they hated
How's it go
I'm kinda faded but I feel alright
Thinkin' about making my move tonight
I can't pretend that you're only my friend
When you're holding my body tight
Cause I like the way you're making it move
I like the way you're making me wait
At the end of the night when I make up your mind
You'll be coming on home with me
I'm kinda faded but I feel alright
Thinkin' about making my move tonight
I can't pretend that you're only my friend
When you're holding my body tight
Cause I like the way you're making it move
I like the way you're making me wait
At the end of the night when I make up your mind
You'll be coming on home with me
I'm kinda faded but I feel alright
Thinkin' about making my move tonight
I can't pretend that you're only my friend
When you're holding my body tight
Cause I like the way you're making it move
I like the way you're making me wait
At the end of the night when I make up your mind
You'll be coming on home with me
Yeah Yeah Yeah...
song performed by by Soul Decision from No One Does It Better
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Posthumous realization
As an adult, you are no longer a part of your parents.
As an adult your son is no longer a part of his parents.
So are your brothers and sisters to you When they are grown
This you can realize only posthumously.
05.12.2002
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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