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ashby-brownPoems
There's not a ****** thing these hands can do All there is Is the next word The next sentence The next breath The next exhale and the next Inhale We are bodies doomed to expel But born To create something within that Short Short Time Advancement is not a choice But an Obligation Laziness harkens the ones That do not Understand this Do not see this Do not hear the ticking time of death Do not hear the scratch of the scythe Upon the smooth grey Concrete I am lazy too I have drank my fill of hopelessness Of sadness Of temperatures and Rage The only thing it does Is make you see familiar things With a friendly kind of glaze And for many days I have laughed I have cried I have seen the hills on the Other side And understand now They are much like the hills Right Here
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Sep 28, 2011
Sep 28, 2011 at 4:25 AM UTC
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There's not a ****** thing these hands can do All there is Is the next word The next sentence The next breath The next exhale and the next Inhale We are bodies doomed to expel But born To create something within that Short Short Time Advancement is not a choice But an Obligation Laziness harkens the ones That do not Understand this Do not see this Do not hear the ticking time of death Do not hear the scratch of the scythe Upon the smooth grey Concrete I am lazy too I have drank my fill of hopelessness Of sadness Of temperatures and Rage The only thing it does Is make you see familiar things With a friendly kind of glaze And for many days I have laughed I have cried I have seen the hills on the Other side And understand now They are much like the hills Right Here
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ashby-brown
Sep 28, 2011
Sep 28, 2011 at 4:25 AM UTC
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