The sidewalk ends, with a solid solemn note
the purpose has no walls, but has a perfect moat
Birds in the eaves and overhangs, raccoons in the hall
imagination as it flows, or does not flow at all
Dwelling on the the bitter absence of simple electrical thought
some things cannot be purchased, sold, or ever bought
A daydream or a nightmare, solidified by pure control
molding what's at hand, as diamonds, made from coal
String the pearls of all things grasped, and so upheld
as are good dialogues, leading too, a quintessential spell
Hone the blades of heroes, bending edicts and all rules
using words as barriers, against the bravery of fools
I never thought to hold the strings, of all the prose that I have lost
divining a newer better phrase, running up a dire financial cost
Give me back all the discarded pangs, I've left there in my past
conjoining in deliverance, as broken bones in graves, been cast
It's like the final days of great Pompeii. or greater Rome
Nero on his lyre, Pompeii's burned within their homes
Draw the dipped quill across, what is and is not so
gleanings of similar minds, inspiring as it goes
Apr 3, 2017
Apr 3, 2017 at 10:14 AM UTC
The sidewalk ends, with a solid solemn note
the purpose has no walls, but has a perfect moat
Birds in the eaves and overhangs, raccoons in the hall
imagination as it flows, or does not flow at all
Dwelling on the the bitter absence of simple electrical thought
some things cannot be purchased, sold, or ever bought
A daydream or a nightmare, solidified by pure control
molding what's at hand, as diamonds, made from coal
String the pearls of all things grasped, and so upheld
as are good dialogues, leading too, a quintessential spell
Hone the blades of heroes, bending edicts and all rules
using words as barriers, against the bravery of fools
I never thought to hold the strings, of all the prose that I have lost
divining a newer better phrase, running up a dire financial cost
Give me back all the discarded pangs, I've left there in my past
conjoining in deliverance, as broken bones in graves, been cast
It's like the final days of great Pompeii. or greater Rome
Nero on his lyre, Pompeii's burned within their homes
Draw the dipped quill across, what is and is not so
gleanings of similar minds, inspiring as it goes
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