Ghost Sutra

Children, children, play on the grounds.
For years will pass and you will feel the bound.
Row your boat down the endless way.
Dreams of dreams covers the grey day.
Conform or die is what we live.
A simple way to lie and give.
They made up stories that they fed.
So play on children you're already dead.

poem by Khembottra Oum
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!