My frail form grows frailer,
sounds of gunshots,
these parties end on the grounds,
and when your gaze turns to shades of grey
how many tears can I kiss away?
We blend,
amidst friends, fantasy, and fiction,
there never is proper disdain or diction
for our survival skills in the midst of storms,
will your love abound as distance norms?
There are symphonies in fingertips,
while bombs scatter the dust of human kindness,
fetal screams trickle down
and jab the meaning of heartache,
can you avoid faults and breaks?
I intend to give you majesty,
though I'm not a man of wealth,
I'm still a man of means,
turbulent maybe the times,
but we agree on dying with the end rhyme.
Feb 14, 2011
Feb 14, 2011 at 7:52 PM UTC
My frail form grows frailer,
sounds of gunshots,
these parties end on the grounds,
and when your gaze turns to shades of grey
how many tears can I kiss away?
We blend,
amidst friends, fantasy, and fiction,
there never is proper disdain or diction
for our survival skills in the midst of storms,
will your love abound as distance norms?
There are symphonies in fingertips,
while bombs scatter the dust of human kindness,
fetal screams trickle down
and jab the meaning of heartache,
can you avoid faults and breaks?
I intend to give you majesty,
though I'm not a man of wealth,
I'm still a man of means,
turbulent maybe the times,
but we agree on dying with the end rhyme.
© 2011 by J.J. Hutton
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