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ashby-brownPoems
Sounds of uprooted affection The hands of time Take their signs to post them On the faces Of lost hope A sincere apology To no one For sincerity Wavers like the white flag Upon the battlefield Apologies Come and go Are said and spread Like Friends Neighbors Parents Lovers The stinking dead Language of our Contemporaries questions Whether I even belong Here at all Was I ever here? Or was I ever there? Was I an illusive memory Some people Can't seem to forget? Guitar strings she wears As a reflected dress Amplifiers of America Reverberate through her Angelic straight spine A question An answer A query No solution Nodding to the Television as the whites Of my eyes splinter & What I once was Lays upon the Clear blue drift Burning skin that Covers all of me The fire was hot But why was I caught In something I thought Would only be stopped? Rules & regulations rear Like a spanish bull at noon The customers are here Entertainers ready their spoons Blankness of verse Painlessness of death Forgetting that yes One day I'll have my rest
0
Apr 11, 2012
Apr 11, 2012 at 3:04 AM UTC
Breakfast, No Coffee
Sounds of uprooted affection The hands of time Take their signs to post them On the faces Of lost hope A sincere apology To no one For sincerity Wavers like the white flag Upon the battlefield Apologies Come and go Are said and spread Like Friends Neighbors Parents Lovers The stinking dead Language of our Contemporaries questions Whether I even belong Here at all Was I ever here? Or was I ever there? Was I an illusive memory Some people Can't seem to forget? Guitar strings she wears As a reflected dress Amplifiers of America Reverberate through her Angelic straight spine A question An answer A query No solution Nodding to the Television as the whites Of my eyes splinter & What I once was Lays upon the Clear blue drift Burning skin that Covers all of me The fire was hot But why was I caught In something I thought Would only be stopped? Rules & regulations rear Like a spanish bull at noon The customers are here Entertainers ready their spoons Blankness of verse Painlessness of death Forgetting that yes One day I'll have my rest
Written by
ashby-brown
Apr 11, 2012
Apr 11, 2012 at 3:04 AM UTC
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