The poetry I so intensely write
Is not only in black and white,
There are some shades of gray,
***** traps and a crooked way.
It’s a door to my heart,
A window to my mind,
A pathway to my soul,
A back alley to my dreams.
You are forewarned if I say,
Tread so lightly, if you may,
through this maze with care
fraught with the peril of a snare.
My lovelorn heart is clean,
My soul scrubbed to a sheen,
It’s my mind you must pay heed
In its sinister design lest it succeed.
Surely it will lead you astray
Down a ****** and slippery way,
To a point of no return, beware,
Woe betides anyone who dare!
Jun 12, 2015
Jun 12, 2015 at 1:56 PM UTC
The poetry I so intensely write
Is not only in black and white,
There are some shades of gray,
***** traps and a crooked way.
It’s a door to my heart,
A window to my mind,
A pathway to my soul,
A back alley to my dreams.
You are forewarned if I say,
Tread so lightly, if you may,
through this maze with care
fraught with the peril of a snare.
My lovelorn heart is clean,
My soul scrubbed to a sheen,
It’s my mind you must pay heed
In its sinister design lest it succeed.
Surely it will lead you astray
Down a ****** and slippery way,
To a point of no return, beware,
Woe betides anyone who dare!
