the clouds cover the sun,
the sun over powers the moon,
if happieness is a warm gun,
then i will reach it soon.

music equals nothing,
inside to out,
we hope to see something,
reality leaves us with doubt.

wooden chairs and glass pipes,
tell me what to do,
drum snair and dark nights,
tell me what drugs to use.

the clouds cover the sun,
the sun over powers the moon,
if happieness is a warm gun,
i will reach it soon.


um.....its called poetry critique for a reason.....so critique please.

Highguy,

I like the flow and word play you've used in this poem... however, i feel a little uncertain about ...

...
the clouds cover the sun,
the sun over powers the moon,
if happieness is a warm gun,
i will reach it soon.

...

I don't seem to understand or grasp the right feeling you're trying to provoke... I am sure that it means a lot to you for poetry normally does, perhaps a bit more 'explanation' if you like, would help your readers interpret.

Keep it up though...

D

thank u for the input...its about time sumone tells me what i was doing wrong....