Down drop dew
Lays long low
Makes men move
But never they know
For from form
All are all
Some shall scorn
Why weak walls?
Best beats boast
Pain past prime
Grinning games gloat
Tick tock time
Rum runs rampant
Stars seem sunk
Play pray plant
dream deep drunk
(August 22nd, 2107)
YOU ARE READING
Post Modern Mystic
PoetryPoetry fills a need of the human heart to express through the construction of artistic verse, the things that hide in its depths. This book of poetry is my attempt to reach those places and beyond. See if I do. Let me know if I reach you. This will...
