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ashby-brownPoems
Even if one thousand Pages were fluttered out By ****** and crippled hand It would turn toward The eyes and ears Of man to busy To lazy To eager To star struck To mind numb To look for the book From which it came Great hands ears eyes noses Prose imaginations now in woe A fine finger presses upon the blank ink Warrior in black and white robes Who cares if the times have changed? The reason why we are all here Sitting and staring up and up Is now being leaked like lost blank ink Into the mainstream smooth as metallic plastic A note worth mentioning Like Mozart's final breath A touch of death never hurt anyone It only made them realize The elevator only has So many floors So many buttons So many places on can hide And as the dawn wavers The dung beetles carry out their wears Watching the sun hit the pastel buildings Crumbing in front of their weary eyes A telling note For the quill The pencil The pen The ****** finger nail and The spit Now We sit in plush red velvet sits With yellow puffs of butter Watching **** bounce Men scream And children wandering as if blind Wondering what it was like To dream
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Feb 23, 2012
Feb 23, 2012 at 3:15 AM UTC
Words Revolving
Even if one thousand Pages were fluttered out By ****** and crippled hand It would turn toward The eyes and ears Of man to busy To lazy To eager To star struck To mind numb To look for the book From which it came Great hands ears eyes noses Prose imaginations now in woe A fine finger presses upon the blank ink Warrior in black and white robes Who cares if the times have changed? The reason why we are all here Sitting and staring up and up Is now being leaked like lost blank ink Into the mainstream smooth as metallic plastic A note worth mentioning Like Mozart's final breath A touch of death never hurt anyone It only made them realize The elevator only has So many floors So many buttons So many places on can hide And as the dawn wavers The dung beetles carry out their wears Watching the sun hit the pastel buildings Crumbing in front of their weary eyes A telling note For the quill The pencil The pen The ****** finger nail and The spit Now We sit in plush red velvet sits With yellow puffs of butter Watching **** bounce Men scream And children wandering as if blind Wondering what it was like To dream
Written by
ashby-brown
Feb 23, 2012
Feb 23, 2012 at 3:15 AM UTC
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