Apr 2017
A futile pen, mortally wounded
By the razor hands of a leering clock
Lies bleeding;
Staining irrevcocably
The snow-white side-ruled shroud
That once was hunger's meal;
Casting low, long shadows
Over unborn, nonexistent lines.
<< >>
By the razor hands of a leering clock
Lies bleeding;
Staining irrevcocably
The snow-white side-ruled shroud
That once was hunger's meal;
Casting low, long shadows
Over unborn, nonexistent lines.
<< >>
This is the copyrighted title for the book I will eventually publish - if I have to handwrite it myself. But this piece may not be in it. Not real satisfied with it.
