"eiderdown" poems
Some say love's a little boy,
And some say it's a bird,
Some say it makes the world go around,
Some say that's absurd,
And when I asked the man next-door,
Who looked as if he knew,
His wife got very cross indeed,
And said it wouldn't do.
Does it look like a pair of pyjamas,
Or the ham in a temperance hotel?
Does its odour remind one of llamas,
Or has it a comforting smell?
Is it prickly to touch as a hedge is,
Or soft as eiderdown fluff?
Is it sharp or quite smooth at the edges?
O tell me the truth about love.
Our history books refer to it
In cryptic little notes,
It's quite a common topic on
The Transatlantic boats;
I've found the subject mentioned in
Accounts of suicides,
And even seen it scribbled on
The backs of railway guides.
Does it howl like a hungry Alsatian,
Or boom like a military band?
Could one give a first-rate imitation
On a saw or a Steinway Grand?
Is its singing at parties a riot?
Does it only like Classical stuff?
Will it stop when one wants to be quiet?
O tell me the truth about love.
I looked inside the summer-house;
It wasn't over there;
I tried the Thames at Maidenhead,
And Brighton's bracing air.
I don't know what the blackbird sang,
Or what the tulip said;
But it wasn't in the chicken-run,
Or underneath the bed.
Can it pull extraordinary faces?
Is it usually sick on a swing?
Does it spend all its time at the races,
or fiddling with pieces of string?
Has it views of its own about money?
Does it think Patriotism enough?
Are its stories ****** but funny?
O tell me the truth about love.
When it comes, will it come without warning
Just as I'm picking my nose?
Will it knock on my door in the morning,
Or tread in the bus on my toes?
Will it come like a change in the weather?
Will its greeting be courteous or rough?
Will it alter my life altogether?
O tell me the truth about love.
43.4k
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
After days of long studies comes the
days of rest. My violet dreams were
slumber-soft filled with lucent lilies
of curling flames born of ever colour
known and unknown. And I stood
in awe of them as my fears fall back
and cower in the shades of my mind.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
I muse at how quickly my body
relaxed. Due to my marjoram'd
pillows and sheets of pure silk
and eiderdown? Or due to the
sips of the lavender tea in my in
my teacup decorated with a
butterfly motif?
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
I remember the sips in fours as
I blew the steam from my cup;
The first sip balmed my lips.
The second soothed my throat.
The third lulled my thoughts.
The fourth stilled my soul.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
Though the tea, the pillow and
sheets were had a hand in my nightly
rest, the real answer is on my brow -
for it was when the night's cool air
blew, and where you placed your
sweet Morphean kiss.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
With a smile, I wake.
Sat on my golden summer throne
located in my marble gazebo; a
jewel in my private garden. With
thin caryatid pillars, draped in
fine doric chitons encircling me.
Their sculpted limbs hold up the
frieze carved with acanthus
that has a stained glass top of
peacocks and stargazers.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
The sheer curtains billow when
the eastern winds blow. By me, a
gold side table with a mirrored top
supported by three Greek key legs.
A pewter quill pen with a steel nib
and violet feather rests by its clay
inkpot; both beside a silver sinuous
nouveau vase and a small stack of
poetry books of black leather and
gilt.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
Aug 4, 2018
Aug 4, 2018 at 7:48 AM UTC
Ban flu,
Man flu.
Aching head,
Bleary eyes,
Death lurking,
In disguise,
Under the bed,
What a surprise,
**** off Death,
I’m going to rise.
No I’m not,
I flop down,
Head cushioned,
In eiderdown,
In the curtains,
Face of a clown,
In medication,
Senses drown.
I’m not dying,
I am in a state,
Snot and phlegm,
I ******* hate,
No latent desire,
To **********
No appetite,
I’m losing weight!
I’m getting better,
Weak as a lamb,
A hot toddy,
A wee dram,
Man flu is real,
Not a sham,
Getting better,
The **** I am.
The fifth day,
What a-to-do,
So had enough,
Of feeling blue,
Death lost,
So go *****
Getting dressed,
I am its true.
Man flu,
Ban flu.
© Paul Chafer 2014
Feb 5, 2014
Feb 5, 2014 at 10:24 AM UTC
my ***** Little Secret, symbolized
by ***** words and little idiosyncrasies and
secret secret liaisons;
je c'adore,
laying Control alongside
cast off clothing and kicked off wet *******
heartbeat aflutter beneath your
oh so deliberate ministrations and
thighs aquiver beneath your
oh so deliberate teeth.
my wrists chafe; bound by bitter steel to demure wood,
powerless
or rather
entirely in your power.
you've always loved it,
the thrill of exploration, of
Newfoundland, of
conquer and subjugation and ravishment;
your tongue flickering against my
**** like eiderdown,
fingertips tracing spirals and Möbius
Strips upon my *******
Apr 19, 2014
Apr 19, 2014 at 7:36 PM UTC
That happiest moments come in childhood
When innocence combed ones hair
And Saturdays bring respite
Bedrooms lined with a few toys
While two fair ground ballerinas
Curtesy on a white wood mantelpiece.
Then that snuggling down to sleep
Under homemade feather eiderdown
Hot lemon and sugar brought in a glass
The certainty of mother's voice
Climbing the stairs with wine gums.
Even if time stretched patience
It arrival brought only surprises
And leaf rubbings on paper
Were treasured achiements
Displayed in cardboard mounts.
Love Mary x
Mar 29, 2018
Mar 29, 2018 at 12:22 PM UTC
Lightly colored with painted kisses, humming harmonious hymns:
The vital branches of our tree, such strength, unblighted!
Your charity sustains me, the manna of my muse,
Do you feel my fingertips as they glide across your cheek,
My palm on your chin, your eyes upturned they settle and seize my attention.
Stay not your caress, though in between us there may be a veil.
Serpents in the short grass will not strike you as you pass,
I've paid them for your safe passage, come to me, I crave only your touch.
Here, let us only touch each other,
No more is needed now, but skin, and silence,
Let the wind carry away all pains and past sorrows.
With your touch my agonies dissolve
like a sweet treat in a moist mouth.
With confidence I shrug off past limitations,
Celebrations are even now being held in the core of my being.
Your smiling spirit sends sympathetic vibrations when I am away.
Restored are the comforts of past days,
Eiderdown and slow burning sage,
Before I knew your words were ever for me
I fell deeply in love with your melodies.
If I could, in my deepest passion prove the power of your touch
It would mean so much if you could understand.
Like an assembled host of mighty magicians focused in concert
Your hands work epic miracles, of soothing and creation.
In the course of my rambles
I have stumbled
On sigils and symbols
That have granted me a second sight
And from you I see waves of light,
In mingled colours sharply detailed patterns
Of magnificent artistry,
An aura of delightful pageantry
That reveals your unparraleled self to me.
Entrusted with the formula for happiness,
I share this willingly with the hope you'll see,
All I need to wake each day,
is the nearest hope that we shall spend a moment together,
So in touching, we may impart the many words left unsaid,
The truths that would shatter our lips should we utter them.
Sep 25, 2012
Sep 25, 2012 at 2:39 PM UTC
Wood smoke carries on the air
The time driven memory
Of ****** basics and soulful
Earthy humankind
Surrounding each personal cell and
Lifting the arm-stretching power
Of fire and the need to feel warmth
The technology of modern man
Is dashed on the rocks of time
As we drift with the stench of our youth
The well worn shoe and the eiderdown
The hot water bottle and the candle
Flickering and holding us with
A knowledge of comforts
And our understanding
We live within this world and feel
The circle of life that smells of
Log fires in the autumn and the sooty
Blackbird song of impending winter
The warble and the peaceful heart of
Everything we love as seasonal
Mists and dancing flames keep us
Wrapped in our primeval lives
Will autumn bring a kind or hard winter
No matter, we have coped with them all
By Max Hale
Nov 20, 2012
Nov 20, 2012 at 1:17 PM UTC
This is about my Grandparents. They got married in the 1920's . . When one didn't get divorced.
My Grandfather kept a diary, though he didn't know my Grandmother read it most days.
He believed he'd been trapped into marriage, for much of their time together and was very bitter . . He failed to see what she was all about for a very long time . . Not the easiest marriage . . This is about that.
Eiderdown Diary
In previous prose
The pages of my days
Payed homage to my . .
Crucified vows.
What I thought love .
Meant Ambition . . sold for scrap . .
Traded for a shotgun wife's,
Wed . locked . Bed . . .
White lies in kisses
A Mans need
******* two more souls
From that sanitary bed before
Work withdrew me . . .
Fridays drank frustration dry
Saturday screamed . . for Sundays relief . .
My respite found in working weeks
I drank her tears for years
Bound by habitual responses
Through disabled conversations . .
Through polite goodnights I . .
Sought Belief . . .
Yet still washed Sundays Cars
Then Pension planned retirement . .
Though Circumstance a change
My never mind Lady
Beckoned . . Persuading
The Cancer Degrading my Days away
My shadow sipped her sun
Became perfume in pages
My Eiderdown Diary
Morphine removed me
Soothed me to Bed
Time instead she said
To understand . . Then
Kissed my forehead . .
Held me dead
Aug 9, 2013
Aug 9, 2013 at 12:33 PM UTC
Click them off like
rosary beads
with accossiated prayers.
Smudge the dreams
into the eiderdown,
And divide them down
in ironed out
layers.
Line them up and
gobble them with listless
tea.
I am your prediction!
(said in shushes,
quite benediction)
I want to drop like stingless bees.
I am Addiction to Tranquility.
How jealous I am!
Watching him fall on his ****
as I begin the solitary farce
of trying to close my
eyes.
I watch his chest slowly sink and rise.
How beautiful -
to be cut down,
like grass.
Flophouse drapes of
cigarette smoke
hang from the ceiling in
billows.
A headache clings and
holds me close as
daylight stumbles
like a ghost,
and settles her questions
on my pillows.
The tragic thing about each morning
Is that I greet each sleepy dawn
with the dry and
pinkened threat of tears.
Sleepers – do you know the
might of what you do
each ******* night?
The oblivion in half your years?
The fiction of your wild frontiers?
The obliteration and presentation
of all your garbled
Freudian fears?
Do you know the glamour in what you do?
Do you know what I’d give to be like you?
To live and somehow not be here?
To close my eyes?
To disappear?
Sep 2, 2013
Sep 2, 2013 at 9:24 AM UTC
Chamomile lines
In a cup filled with sorrow
As they swirl, rise and burst your eyes burn on.
Ice-blue, yet warm
As the morning in winter
Feels like I'm breathing dragons and walking through fields of silver.
Spider web catches
The rays of the sun
Rising on the horizon, is it called a horizon because of the rising?
Hawks drop and whirl
It's all so romantic
And it makes me feel sick to my stomach because I'm just a wandering girl...
You're a beast in the den
You're a wolf in the lair
You're the wood for my fire
You're the breeze in my hair
But I never asked for a den
And I wanted the lair for myself
And my fire should be burning with coal not wood.
And the breeze in my hair? Well that's just annoying
The affection you lavish on me feels like cloying
Reproaches from some kind of horrible clown
All lathered and slathered in wet eiderdown
It's leering towards me, its horrible face
Lifts into a smile, an ugly grimace
And I realise suddenly
That my mind is painting grotesque scenes
Over the beauty of the one that I love
But then how do I stop it?
How do I stop it?
How do I stop it?
You make me feel putrid
We laughed when he said that
Yet love lies niggling at my insides like a blister
That I don't want
And yet it's mine
Mine
All mine
And I want to keep it
Forever.
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 11:00 AM UTC
White bird
Half Intrascope
Alerted by fire
hypnotic Sapphire Realm
Shifting Snow Shape starling
In this for that for This
Chirp Chirping
In Deluxe stereo
Daylight reliefs, lights of my ethereal France
Dance, dancing
Like soldiers, rock rocking
Heavy, eiderdown beaten Shadows
In temporary ride
Into temporary flight
Apr 8, 2016
Apr 8, 2016 at 1:51 PM UTC
Early mornings
With us wrapped
In the wings of our sweat
Ignoring the muted call of birds
And the bright,
Screaming
Sun.
I pull you close,
Lose my fingers
In the passion
Of alligator eyes-
The cheese sharp
Scent of your ****
Closed it's noose.
And I found myself upon the floor craving a halo.
But the saints are dead, and bleed like violins.
The unmistakable relief
Of your curves
Are distant now;
Where once we stalked the city's
Whispering night;
Now we entertain widows
Full of secrets.
Only distant eiderdown
Holds our halo
Holds our breath
And monochrome death
In relief of
early mornings
Mar 5, 2014
Mar 5, 2014 at 12:05 AM UTC
Give me the shearling wool for silky feet;
to ward off chills in this audacious cold.
With eiderdown make all my slumber sweet
and there tucked in, let all my dreams unfold.
On lofty pillows high, let me recline,
to cushion any pain that I might feel
and let a good night's sleep at last be mine,
that I, untroubled, may begin to heal.
Let banshee winds around the casement wail,
as fingers of the trees tap cold and dead,
out on the windows, where the cold prevails.
I will be safely nestled in my bed.
How delicate I must appear to be!
A sister to, "The Princess and the Pea".
Jan 2, 2012
Jan 2, 2012 at 10:15 AM UTC
(a poem for Christina-Taylor Green, who
was born on September 11, 2001 and who
died at age nine, shot to death ...)
Child of 9-11, beloved,
I bring this lily, lay it down
here at your feet, and eiderdown,
and all soft things, for your gentle spirit.
I bring this psalm — I hope you hear it.
Much love I bring — I lay it down
here by your form, which is not you,
but what you left this shell-shocked world
to help us learn what we must do
to save another child like you.
Child of 9-11, I know
you are not here, but watch, afar
from distant stars, where angels rue
the evil things some mortals do.
I also watch; I also rue.
And so I make this pledge and vow:
though I may weep, I will not rest
nor will my pen fail heaven's test
till guns and wars and hate are banned
from every shore, from every land.
Child of 9-11, I grieve
your tender life, cut short ... bereaved,
what can I do, but pledge my life
to saving lives like yours? Belief
in your sweet worth has led me here ...
I give my all: my pen, this tear,
this lily and this eiderdown,
and all soft things my heart can bear;
I bring them to your final bier,
and leave them with my promise, here.
***
Published by The Flea, The Lyric, Copia Posterous, Elizabeth’s Ramblings, Legacy.com and Fullosia Press
Keywords/Tags: Child, beloved, lily, eiderdown, psalm, shooting, gun, violence, massacres, 9-11, evil, NRA, guns, war, wars, hate, hatred
Mar 2, 2020
Mar 2, 2020 at 12:55 AM UTC
i went to tipperary with its land so green
with lots of different things that made a lovely scene
there were hills and mountains and castles everywhere.
lots of lakes and rivers i saw while i was there.
i saw pipers playing such a lovely tune
walking through the glen underneath the moon
there was lots of grass as soft as eiderdown.
clouds that looked like silk in tipperary town.
Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 11:33 AM UTC
Setting up camp
I am caught in the headlamps of some corporate tramps with the wings of the albatross stamped on their foreheads,and quickly they come at me firing their guns at me,out of the sun, I can't see them to clearly.
Nearly got me that time
I must be beware,
corporate tramps get every where and try to disrupt me,corrupt me with credits and debits,in books I have read it that these are no good but sometimes I can't see the trees for the wood and they prey on the blinded and feeble and frail,they'll bang at your brain until they make a secure sale,it seems they can't fail,
because
we are bombarded with adverts perverting our minds,adverts that sell you all kinds of mindless monstrosities,colossal calamities and we **** on the corporate mammaries until we've had our fill,
then we burp and slurp it all down.
Welcome to the **** it and see almost but not quite free franchise town,
need a gown.a duck down eiderdown,brown shoes,black shoes anyway you think you win they know you lose but buy it here,buy regurgitated,variagated beer here in the franchise town.
'come on down the price is right'
the time is now
you're going to die so spend and spend and how you please ,use your cards and we will bring you to your knees,
Jeez
it's depressionville,third turning past the bank of **** creek hill.
It makes you want to **** something,someone,the corporations go on and on,before to long they will run out of space,then ,
option one kicks in and kicks you in the face and puts you down.
Join the rest of us.
in the almost but not quite free, buy me here,have a beer,
franchise town
Dec 14, 2013
Dec 14, 2013 at 6:27 AM UTC
I love you, you are mental.
You are chicken oriental.
I love you, cos ya off ya head,
every night when we go to bed ,
getting silly , getting sentimental.
beneath the quilt, ... (its continental)
then I guess, we'll go to town,
underneath the eiderdown....
I love you, my lovely mental case,
i love your mental fkin face .
i love you, cos you love me too,
loving you's like having flu
its like an affliction,
much worse than addiction.
much harder to quit,
than drugs and **** ...
my love for you is not necrotic,
cannot be cured with an antibiotic,
I guess what I'm saying is ..
I love you though, .... ya not the biz.
Been together,
for many a year.
can't belive,
that I'm still here....
(c) mandy *** rigby 04/03/2014
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 8:27 AM UTC
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
Yet, I admit, feel a tad uninspired.
So I gently wave my hand towards
two handmaids. Essha, a musician
uses her nimble fingers to play the
Harp with other, Semui who plays
the flute, together creating a true
aurelian tune.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
There is so much ahead that my eyes
can see. Rings of still, clear waters
around the green hills of near and
far. Guards patrolling the high walls
of my borders, Knights riding horses
into my people's town. How it warms
me to see them all smiling and laughing,
going about their daily business.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
A brethren of sweet lilies in the
vase shyly bob their heads, pouting
their rosy lips which I gently stroke.
Violets coiled around the bare feet of
the caryatids, and pots of bluebells
and dahlias by my own slippered
feet.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
My star-kissed diadem, though
resting on my curls, is caressed by
the light as I turn my face towards
the horizon. Deer dance in the shade
of pure green, leaping over the silver
streams, that murmur tales and
secrets they hold within.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
And by the docks of my Aurelinaea,
are many argosies with wooden
bellies and creamy sails with many
imports; of silks and velvets, satins
and eiderdown; apricots and apples,
plums and peaches, honeys, jams,
syrups and jellies from fruits and
flowers to heaps of sugars and spices,
make-up, jewels, flower-bulbs and
perfumes.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
And my personal favourites - a great
assemblage of teas; herbal and cream,
drinks and oils as well as an assortment
of old tomes, Analects and books. I have
a dream that mine own library would
rival the fabled one of the once great
Alexandria.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
Aug 4, 2018
Aug 4, 2018 at 7:48 AM UTC
The strings of soft dusk breeze
connects your thoughts to me
And I vanish from the life
Shiny moon smiles low
Pretty stars fail to show
I am marching with my lies
You fly above the clouds
oh wind, fly me there above
The lights are all gone
The quilt of eiderdown
Covers my sorrow but mind
quickly dreams your face
I see wings on your arms
you call my name and
Lovely things of my eyes
My love by my side
Pleasant sights
walking down the lane
Candle blows, rooster crows
Sun rises over the realm
No more wings, no more you
the dream falls soft like snow
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 10:55 PM UTC
I am falling
Carded wool and eiderdown
Muted hues in the resonant ghost of you
My words drift
Shadow soft before the deluge
Of an angry sky
I pray for rain
Even though I cower under cover of your grace
Myriad tears from heaven broken
Etch the epitaph and rune stones
Twist the light to brazen
Blanched in acid
Your brilliance blinds me
Sunlight spilled on fallow ground
I am soaked to the marrow
Weathered and weary
An the abyss whispers ever closer
Embrace the profane till the flesh burns ashen
*Nati sumus solus et nos solus perire
Deo autem non est sine interiori lumine
You follow me sombrous through the maelstrom
Trade my hueless soul
For the ecstasy of light
**In raptu lumine vestit me
*we are born alone and we die alone
Without God there is no internal light
**Clothe me in the ecstasy of light
TL Boehm
11/13/2012
Jan 29, 2015
Jan 29, 2015 at 6:30 PM UTC
Silent she slips in
Resolute the new day
Steps of eiderdown
Path rendered muted echoes
As sparkled snow sugars tongues of lovers
A petaled hand extended
Fragrant cherry blossoms
The blush
The rush
Will cupids lacquered eros wax
When the breeze of romance
Roars ferocious
Lions prowl on taloned claws frigid
Before the frail Paschal lambs
New birth awaits the cadence of spring rain
And jonquiled mornings pregnant with dew
Little girls skip minuets
Plait the maypole
Festive in buttered eyelet, whispered taffeta and crisp dotted swiss
Dreaming of castles and gilt armor
Bind this heart of mine in gold and champagne roses
Love and gunfire burst on the palette of the night sky
Sonic color settles shrieking freedom
The haze of summer days
The wind warm, your breath warmer
She languishes heavy lidded
Pine pitch fragrant in her hair and sweet strawberries in her mouth
Fireflies flit teasing
Tepid water waits for stain glass wings to grace the surface
Taut the day holds her breath
As rumbling thunder promises the cool monsoon
Chase away the dog days when the atmosphere clings heavy
Sleepless nights of croaking toads and the drone of mosquitoes
Breathless for the heady patter of rain
Herald the skies of burning blue
Above a cacophony of color
Cottonwoods in petticoats sunflower yellow
Crimson maple and dusted ash
Dance beneath the harvest moon
Thankful
Life is a gift to be unwrapped
Surprise exquisite
Like the first star sparkling on your horizon
At the end of the day.
TL Boehm
02/01/10
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 4:03 PM UTC
theres a blackbird in my garden he always sings to me
sitting on the branches of my apple tree
such a lovely song with a lovely tune
melts my heart away as he begins to croon.
he has a yellow beak and his eyes are brown
his feathers they are black as soft as eiderdown
he fills my heart with joy makes me feel so free
makes everything so peaceful the way that life should be
Feb 17, 2017
Feb 17, 2017 at 9:46 AM UTC
coming home at half past dusk
my body is so very weary
my fingers are cold
my tummy
empty
my thoughts are of home
as i trudge my way
through the darkness
a darkness that falls like
autumn leaves.
from late afternoon
the darkness settles
on the ground
starting with the sky
it falls like a billowing eiderdown
onto a cold autumnal bed
twilight flutters
and spiraling down
it slips quietly between the streets
filling fields
covering
in layer upon layer
of blues and violet hues
upon the houses
and the buildings below
tiny stars begin to glow
as the sky turns to indigo
dreams fall upon the cars
and their lonely passengers
radios on
heater cranked to ten
everyone yawning with wishes of home
waiting for the lights to change
commanders of stop and go
the sentry lollipops
are shining their beams
that dazzle so bright
like stars that burn my eyes
as only i can see
the mirage of wondrous colours
its funny how the imperfections
in my vision
make the ordinary
extra ordinary
as i am blinded by something
not real
unreal
more than ordinary
glorious illusions
of glittering light
and as i slowly open
and close my eyes
playing with
the beams to elongate
bend and dazzle
red, gold and green
blinking in disbelief
at the traffic lights delight
night falls and dutifully
it carpets the world
from work
to home
from home
to work
from work
to home...
ad infinitum
coming home
at the end of the day
to the aroma of stew
the warmth of love
my key opens the lock to a
temporary freedom
and the so begins the unwinding
of the machines fingers
the hamster wheel stops at the door
and gratitude fills my soul as i walk in
through the real world portal
dogs barking
cats milling
food
laughter
love
yes this...
and only this....
this is a joyous wage
for a job well done
Nov 5, 2023
Nov 5, 2023 at 11:37 AM UTC
Sit with me in the darkness
On the edge of the eiderdown
As your fingers turn the pages
Let me be who I am.
The fairies fly from pages
And the horses ride to town
My love for you is greater
Than the stars on my wall.
Love Mary ***
Dec 16, 2018
Dec 16, 2018 at 4:21 PM UTC
In another system on another star where we're worlds apart, and you, the maverick breaks another heart is when
I see you greeting Peter at the gate which is yet another state in a different place
a case of system overload and racing headlong to explode into a million different stars and black holes overflowing with quasars
( I don't know what quasars are but they're to be found around a different star)
And still we kick against the night as if it might give in, the night where love lies thin on the eiderdown,
the night in the shambles of a once proud town,
we are the song out of tune,
we may as well be seagulls winging it
across the face of the moon.
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 9:08 PM UTC