For when the sun burns and turns colden,
The bright yellow spurns from beauty golden,
to a lack of interest for a system
relying on light to pour; listen
though sound travels less
in haste, it makes our bodies bounce.
For when the girl is burned and trounce
The bright mind spurned from evening gown
to a lack of interest to assist him.
He relied on her light to pour; her to listen
though sorry travels, lest
after distaste, it makes us pronounce.
For when a mistake is burned into history.
The stone cold as etched again, and sought.
Good will may be borrowed, entrusted, stolen,
but rarely bought.
For when a daybreak creeps into horizon.
The stones thrown as glass houses brought
Goodly upon their foundations,
in the naked eyes of all sunspot.
May those coloured fractals of which lurch deftly.
Return to shared ***** directly, swiftly. Freshly.
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 4:37 AM UTC
For when the sun burns and turns colden,
The bright yellow spurns from beauty golden,
to a lack of interest for a system
relying on light to pour; listen
though sound travels less
in haste, it makes our bodies bounce.
For when the girl is burned and trounce
The bright mind spurned from evening gown
to a lack of interest to assist him.
He relied on her light to pour; her to listen
though sorry travels, lest
after distaste, it makes us pronounce.
For when a mistake is burned into history.
The stone cold as etched again, and sought.
Good will may be borrowed, entrusted, stolen,
but rarely bought.
For when a daybreak creeps into horizon.
The stones thrown as glass houses brought
Goodly upon their foundations,
in the naked eyes of all sunspot.
May those coloured fractals of which lurch deftly.
Return to shared ***** directly, swiftly. Freshly.
Request permission to use this poem