Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
May 2015
Overzealous and underdressed I have no home to call my own, so where has my benevolence gone? Am I an antiquity, am I a forgotten lost treasure of a long ago age where beauty explodes feverishly in a raw
******* ****?  Silken sunken memoirs deep within the pastings of grimy faced lullaby’s etched away in a dust covered passion book called familiar.
CLStewart
Written by
CLStewart  elsewhere
(elsewhere)   
334
   mark cleavenger
Please log in to view and add comments on poems