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ormondPoems
Day taps away— In the numbering rains. All the fleet years, enveloped, How many questions were founded, What was granted by our solo vacations? We have trussed, only films, yellowed and bent ****** into an makeshift, unready, empty album, Dreams made right, journaled without strewn hands, Lips rung dry from want of heat, touch and caress, We kept our pride, penultimate, throughout All the days, longing, dying, we slept Together, in a broken bed of dreams And thought, when will this play Be glad?  When will that isle Appear?  Will it ever show Among the dark oceans Rise— to ferry us away Before the drunk sun Sinks in the sea?
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Dec 15, 2013
Dec 15, 2013 at 8:12 PM UTC
Devotions
Day taps away— In the numbering rains. All the fleet years, enveloped, How many questions were founded, What was granted by our solo vacations? We have trussed, only films, yellowed and bent ****** into an makeshift, unready, empty album, Dreams made right, journaled without strewn hands, Lips rung dry from want of heat, touch and caress, We kept our pride, penultimate, throughout All the days, longing, dying, we slept Together, in a broken bed of dreams And thought, when will this play Be glad?  When will that isle Appear?  Will it ever show Among the dark oceans Rise— to ferry us away Before the drunk sun Sinks in the sea?
ormond
Written by
ormond
Irish
Dec 15, 2013
Dec 15, 2013 at 8:12 PM UTC
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