Fermented ideas
Growing old in cellars
A cripple’s hand
Looking like old leather
Reaching out to touch the skies
Feeling love as the white dove flies
Empty bottles
Dancing in the crypt
A poets tears flowing as ink
Following the years of saddened drink
In a boat, I take up the oars
My dream to escape these horrid shores
In the seas, where ideas flow free
Tiss here that I ceased to be
Feb 5, 2017
Feb 5, 2017 at 11:42 PM UTC
Fermented ideas
Growing old in cellars
A cripple’s hand
Looking like old leather
Reaching out to touch the skies
Feeling love as the white dove flies
Empty bottles
Dancing in the crypt
A poets tears flowing as ink
Following the years of saddened drink
In a boat, I take up the oars
My dream to escape these horrid shores
In the seas, where ideas flow free
Tiss here that I ceased to be
