"jousting" poems
Mark A. Williams
SEPTEMBER 14, 1962 – JULY 23, 2018
___________________________________________________________
Wow Mark,
Was so, so saddened to hear this news. I haven't seen you in over ten years, but as kids, we had some amazing adventures, didn't we? Partying, camping and swimming at the Hudson lime pits. Mowing down on Pizza and pitchers of Pepsi (and as we grew up, BEER!) at Pizza Hut. (We knew the numbers to ALL the songs on that jukebox by heart!) Hanging out and looking at the stars through Budvido's telescope, listening to Doctor Demento. Laughing hysterically as we ran through Monty Python skits as everyone looked on in total puzzlement because THEY wouldn't discover them until YEARS later!
Building underground forts in the North Woods. You, Budvido, Zeke and I playing pinball at 7-11 for hours and hours. Watching Bands, chasing girls and playing Foosball or Pool at the Touch of Class Teen Club. You gave me my first Imported beer . . . a Lowenbrau. I will always owe my passion for those German beers to you and it was fitting that Budvido bestowed you with that moniker.
All through Jr. High, sharing a seat on the school bus. You, Matt, Tom, Buddy and I cruising around late night on our bikes for hours. Hanging around in the Jasmine Lakes sign with hijacked beer or getting free bags of Burgers from Burger Queen when they closed at night! Jousting with shopping carts on our bikes in the Winn-Dixie parking lot. Sitting up all night in Jimi's room after climbing in through the window or going on endless space cruises with him and Raymond in the Toyota.
(RIP Jimi Carlsen)
Sneaking into the nudest Colony and skinny dipping! Always cracking up at the school lunch table. Swimming in my pool and terrorizing my sister and her friends. (Allegedly) Trashing that crook Fast Eddie's produce stand after he refused to pay us for a full day of picking watermelons!
Good times, indeed . . . Some of my most precious memories.
I can only pray that you know that I wouldn't trade my youth or you in it for anything in the world and you will be sadly missed, Lowenbrau, my old friend.
I hope that where you are, your beers are ice cold and that you and Jimi aren't having to glue the Hookah back together.
Jeff Gaines
July 28, 2018
Aug 2, 2018
Aug 2, 2018 at 7:00 AM UTC
Whispers hello as the first streams of sunlight
inch their way in through their black chiffon veil,
gleaming on our garden of stale breath,
and down feathers.
Whispers goodnight as his proud freckles
become the constellations outside my window,
and the moon stretches her arms
for another night's work.
Whispers sorry after his words became feather-lances
jousting through my arguments until my armor
was askew and torn
at its paper seams.
Whispers tales of tomorrows and fortnights
to come under illusions of rich greens, blues, and yellows
he will finger paint on my forehead
like a warrior.
Whispers goodbyes, sweet and forlorn,
as he realizes promises and paints will not keep the morning
from snatching his prized possession from his cotton laced roost,
leaving him alone with just the rays of the sun
to admire his tail.
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 2:11 AM UTC
raw ******* thumbs drawing open the canvas of cavities
hot stink, tangles of pink wrinkles, ground turkey and beef
pulse of the earth in the groan of the springs as the sequence of spirits inhabits a lopsided carpet of blood, cardiovascular, creation, crawling
pineapple sweat, ******* neck licking saliva stains, flesh slapping, teeth jousting, chins grinding
explosions, eruptions, screaming, biting, clutching the rim, apocalypse, APOCALYPSE, the guilty apocalypse
Jun 30, 2014
Jun 30, 2014 at 12:09 AM UTC
The young and bold Sir Lancelot
Had shunned the lady of Shalott
And all the swooning maidens, dear.
His heart belonged to Guinevere.
And were she not to Arthur, wed,
She'd have the heart-sick knight instead.
But so it goes, such is the luck
Of sad sir Lancelot du Lac.
When first he came to Camelot
The orphan knight, Sir Lancelot
Did prove his worth to Arthur's Court
In jousting, and such noble sport
And with his charm and courtly grace,
His confidence and handsome face,
He won the heart of Guinevere,
And so he found his heart's one fear.
But so it goes, such is the luck
Of sad Sir Lancelot du Lac.
In tournaments and deeds of arms,
He never fell to earthly harms.
His Lady's scarf about his breast,
He held aloft his knightly chest
And for her honor always strove,
And worshiped her with courtly love.
But she is wed, such is the luck
Of sad Sir Lancelot du Lac.
Beneath a tree, the young knight slept
And one day, four queens on him crept,
The chief of them, Morgan Le Fay.
With magic, they stole him away.
A choice they begged of him to make,
That one of them his heart should take.
But love is strong. They had no luck
In tempting Lancelot du Lac.
When Melegans stole Guinevere
A cart, Sir Lancelot did steer
To reach the hold where she was kept,
Then toward the treacherous knight he leapt.
He bested him with slash and blow,
But to Sir Lancelot's great woe
His Lady simply laughed in jest
And saw no honor in his quest,
For he arrived upon a cart.
Thus, broken was the young knight's heart,
And in a rage he left the place.
He longed just for his Lady's grace.
But so it goes, such is the luck
Of sad Sir Lancelot du Lac.
The young and bold Sir Lancelot
Had shunned the lady of Shalott
And all the swooning maidens, dear.
His heart belonged to Guinevere.
And were she not to Arthur, wed,
She'd have the heart-sick knight instead.
But so it goes, such is the luck
Of sad Sir Lancelot du Lac.
So when he quested for the Grail
He made a promise he would fail.
He said he'd not love Guinevere,
But as he spoke, he shed a tear.
He knew one day their love would end
The table round, and hurt their friends.
So when this promise he did break
The land of Camelot did quake.
For Agrivan, King Arthur, told
His wife did love Lancelot bold
And Arthur sent her to the pyre
To end her sinful love, in fire.
But Lancelot, his queen, did save
And Arthur fell into the grave
And all the knights of Table Round
Were torn apart, could not be bound.
And thus the fall of Camelot
Was caused by one Sir Lancelot.
But so it goes, such is the luck
Of bold Sir Lancelot du Lac.
Nov 6, 2011
Nov 6, 2011 at 9:29 PM UTC
Hear ye, hear ye
hearken from the medieval times of old
where knights in the round once roamed
jousting with deeds fought in truth and honor
to protect the weak, the helpless, the oppressed
with an ideology lurking since the dawn of time
that all are born free, unshackled from contrived ordeals
only to soar high with the eagles to become one with the heavens
and bask in the glory of serving the frailty and holiness of mankind
Hear ye, hear ye
it’s Merlin conjuring a magical spell for the spirit
to behold, to marvel, new stages of self-enlightenment
where the essence of the King invades sleeping visions
possibly foretelling ominous events awaiting new missions
or predestined journeys one must endure to become so bold
in knowledge and wisdom offered, living in this world’s mold
not necessarily realized, instead shrouded with unimpeded urges
akin to the signs found in youth, immaturity, the close-minded
Hear ye, hear ye
the quest to sip from the Carpenter’s silver chalice
and taste charitable love for family, friends, and foes
where reckless pride and hatred are speared with the arrow
forged in devotion of a noble belief, tempered with selfless feats
where the sun rises and sets on the wicked actions of human nature
slaughtering the divine lights prematurely, locked within many souls
yet crusades against evil continues, no retreat, no regrets, no surrender
price to uphold the spirit of Camelot, payment in full, services rendered.
Jul 9, 2017
Jul 9, 2017 at 1:36 AM UTC
Partly darkened and part in light
A time when the stars and sun shared the sky
Bear witness to two behemoths wielding might
Impending clash foreseen to go awry
Two trains of thoughts charging from opposite ends
Each bearing their own solid ideals
Their flags that flew with conflicting brands
Convictions they carry on beaten, weary wheels
Almost an eternity, the time is soon
Seconds lasted before they finally would meet
Feeling of dread like the cloud covered moon
With war cries of whistles, they would greet
No possible way that they could miss
War waged in steeled wills and forged metals
Anticipate the moment, their couplings would kiss
Unleashing a barrage of predestined reprisals
Sheer destruction as they ate into each other
All in tow haphazardly derailed
A clash made of brute strength and power
A result of when decisiveness had failed
All was motionless save for the light of day
The two lay dead; spent currencies in coal
Fire and smoke had emerged from the fray
Signifying that the two have met their goal
Their cargo now freed, engaging in petty skirmish
Lunging and wrestling as they fought for dominance
Determination to overwhelm; never to languish
Jousting fists fueled by pent-up vengeance
Almost at end this long drawn battle
Much like a storm to be patiently ridden out
When the last of the debris should settle
Then would be lifted the dusty veil of doubt
The sun has now risen revealing the aftermath
Shedding light on the devastation incurred
Dark thoughts possess the most potent of wraths
But nothing could beat the muscle of the written word
Looking back I've realised the harm I've caused
Found great solace in the dark words I've governed
Life still hurls; it can never be paused
Just dust yourself off for you're better off enlightened
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 5:14 AM UTC
Like modern day knights
we muster around a
table.
We don’t wear shiny armour
we wear suits that are 50% polyester
50% rayon.
Our jousting poles are have been
replaced with
nervously bitten biros,
and on a fuzzy screen the MD appears
speaking from a country where the currency is
colourful
but ultimately worthless.
His voice is delayed giving
and talks of mergers, leverage &
buy outs.
But I fade out like a ghost image in a propaganda film,
doodling hieroglyphics on a pad.
From the window I see workmen digging a
hole and I wonder will they ever reach China?
Jan 17, 2013
Jan 17, 2013 at 2:23 AM UTC
Across this Height from the Land of Swell Tea
The Second Great Angel offers her Palm
Waving, for Frustration to leave me be
And guide the Wildman to induce his Calm
No affront passed for Virtue to behave
When some cry the Vandal for no reason
He comes to charge; But out defends the Knave,
Jousting him off for another Good Season
In you the Friendly Pearl forms; And no doubt,
This lingering Fever affects most Girls
But like your Seven stood still on a Cloud,
Yet keeps the Spell for Good Passion to burn.
Lucky Dear Dame, such Title you will bear
Enjoy your Earnings; Your Man is now there.
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 5:57 AM UTC
I’m fighting a ************* battle
The devil’s on my shoulder
Whispering to me like the sharp whistling breeze before a storm
Revenge seduces my mind
A true salesman
Giving his final pitch before he takes all that you have
Karma, you devious woman
Pass me the baton
So that I can pay a visit to the unprincipled *****
But then there’s the angel – so ethereal, so divine
You penetrate my mind like a sword piercing an enemy’s heart
With your unclouded light tickling my judgement
The darkness and the bright
Jousting at each other in barbarous combat
Both hungry for the win
Victory is yet to be claimed...
sa
27.9.18
Sep 27, 2018
Sep 27, 2018 at 8:23 AM UTC
I wish I could use words the way a woman can
Not struggling to let go of each one
But pouring them out like water
A smooth steady stream to comfort others or herself
A raging torrent to wear away the most recalcitrant earthen lump
A sudden drenching that dumbfounds the dignity of the pompous
A steady drip that will break the coldness of self serving reason
The pretty, witty music that entices one to dance
The shrewish cackling mockery that makes you feel you’ve got no chance
The calm murmur that can reach the loneliest, most troubled soul
The endless seeming wittering that will always have its goal
Or perhaps her words don’t mean anything at all
They just break the surface of previously parched land
Making little bubbles that pop before they’re seen
With a puff of freshly made air
The tiny gasp with which life can begin
And even when she’s silent and alone
The words will not stop
Going round and round her head until someone can be told
Pressing to express her joy and stress
The wild life she struggles to control
The dear words she wants to give with love
Which may escape to wreak revenge or savage the innocent
Which may be used against her by ruthless charmers
With echoes of what she wants to hear or damaging quotes
Of things she said but no longer feels or means
So sometimes even the best of women may feel defeat
Beaten by words she said that have been ignored
Or twisted till the love has been choked out of them
And they come back to haunt her, weary little beasts
That she must contain all over again, even though she knows
That soon they and the thoughts they hold will return to demanding life
And she that was once their mistress will become their slave
And that is why though talking with women has been one of the great joys of my life
Though I love the verbal jousting and respect a sound tongue lashing
I still hope and dream of the time when the woman I love and I
May be together in wordless peace
Comfortable enough with each other not to speak
Knowing that the immensity of silence
Is easily filled by our mutual love.
Sep 25, 2012
Sep 25, 2012 at 9:17 AM UTC
it is great
to be well away
from those jousting women
all they ever do
is throw verbal bombs
at each other
that seems to be
their field of play
several nasty shots
were fired tonight
which wasn't
a very pretty scene
the ladies got into the boxing ring
which did disturb
some of the folk
a resolution to their feud
is looking
rather remote
a mediator
may need to be called in
someone
with Kissinger
negotiation skills
peace may then
be bought about
Jul 11, 2013
Jul 11, 2013 at 8:40 AM UTC
I asked time to pause
when our breathes
were jousting
millimeters away
I asked time to pause
when you landed your lips
on mine, warming the cold
chaps of distance
I asked time to pause
when you cupped my face
instilling all sense of
security with 3 words
"i am here"
Feb 15, 2017
Feb 15, 2017 at 9:14 AM UTC
My cat likes poetry
She listens attentively to my recitations
I think she might write poetry
I heard her staring outside longingly
Purring mightily, grooving
Transfigured in the morning sun
Her stripes a kaleidoscope of yellows and grays
Keen green eyes on high alert
With flashing intensity through the sliding glass door
Jousting with the mockingbird swooping to peck her head on the patio
Rolling in the catnip bed in triumph
That’s the poem she composes
In the throes of poetic excitement
Inspired by wish and instinct
Oct 7, 2016
Oct 7, 2016 at 11:05 AM UTC
From my Dark Watcher Series;
A heart carries a shield, which to hold at bay,
the demons of the night, that want to play.
Warding off the tears, that joins the game,
with feelings of hate, giving birth to shame.
Swords drawn, the duel begins once more,
sheathes of angry words, slamming doors.
Ruthless sparring that cuts to the soul,
their points dipped in poison, take their toll.
Lethal cuts, rivers of tears that run red,
through gouged cliffs of unknown dread.
Spiteful jousting of controlling speeds,
that ****** deep, to finish the fateful deed.
Kathleen Kohl/Levinski
Dec 14, 2013
Dec 14, 2013 at 11:42 AM UTC
The wind charm perched outside sitting still,
No breath to move it, stagnant
As if
Rigor mortis
Morbidity
Death
Had touched the air, inside he sat,
Tears streaming from his reddened eyes,
"Such beautiful music,
The log fire burned intensely , inside were his branding irons,
He had many in his holder, all sitting neatly,
Stifled noise whimpered near by.
"Time ages many things, many things,
"But bone is a music that sings beautifully,
The white metal was ripe for the flesh, as the
Duck tape peeled slowly, then ripped
As blood spots seeped from skin vandalised
And he recorded every tone that sang forth,
"You are A+ grade my, my, the music we will make,
"Plunged into the torso slowly,
Not wanting to not damage, that
Delicate,
Exquisite,
Fusion
Of bones that graced the air,
Screams echoing throughout the cabin,
Reverberating like a concerto on the senses.
He puts his headphones on, and with blade
Sharpened to its full potential,
As if a conductor waving it through the air.
With precision he cut, and recorded till silence fell.
Flesh was limp on the floor unwanted,
" Meat for the hounds I think,
As the heart still, faint essence of life's beat clinging,
Thrown to the awaiting dogs.
"Eat your heart out,
(He giggles smiling to himself)
The bone now cleansed of life,
Blood,
Muscle,
Marrow
Expunged from the host, till hollow then
Maliciously worn down to the tune of each, till
The silence breathed out. Each one was unique,
Having its own sound of death,
I heard the gesture of breath upon my master piece
Dangling,
Swaying,
Hanging
Life taken but the voices sing out,
I close my eyes and listen as wind kisses each hollow
And the music of death sings out, each made from
Only one never a mixture, as corrupted
Would the sound get two souls jousting
Over the voices expelled with winds gesturing them out.
I sell these pieces to those enticed by deaths voice
Hollowed out life, given purpose in silence
I sit in my chair the brands all in there place.
Tears form as the orchestra of screams scratch
Deep within his soul,
The wind speaks to those bones hanging outside.
Jul 31, 2015
Jul 31, 2015 at 8:12 AM UTC
*Cruel Summer
It’s a long cruel summer
since you’ve been gone;
starless skies
greet dreamless nights
and shadows eat my sight.
I thought it would be easy
not ever seeing you,
but everything I do
calls me to unsaid words
unwritten
unspoken
in many colors, but mostly blue.
~~~
Life is mostly hard,
filled with pain
abuse that makes no sense
and leaves us hollow sometimes.
Whether it’s at the hands
of those who raise us,
or the one who promises
to love us forever.
And worse, we sometimes lose
the ones we love the most-
gone
like mourning dew
on a warm summer’s day.
~~~
I know all this,
honestly I do.
Yet I never thought
it was you I would lose.
Don’t ask me why
I can not explain
my Daliesque dream
that you would remain.
Perhaps it was my penchant
at windmill jousting;
or reading too much into
Cervantes’ and his chivalrous
Dulcinea desires
that imaged you
dancing from chandeliers
or around those gypsy fires
on cool spring nights;
teasing me into submission
and confessing my “sins”
of falling for you.
I have no words
or rationale for any of this.
I just know
it’s a long cruel summer
since you’ve been gone,
leaving me all alone.
~~~
Maybe today,
while it’s sunny and warm,
I can find my sanity,
the rationale
to get out on my own
and sing some silly
80's songs.
Aztec Warrior/redzone 6.26.16*
Sep 19, 2016
Sep 19, 2016 at 2:55 PM UTC
The shiny sun of high summer darkens his flesh
He's a tall heroic frame of lust
Who reeks of *** and musky confidence
A powerful aftershave to stick to my skin
His smile so wide, his teeth so perfect, no stains to hide
His jaw so powerful from biting necks
His skin so smooth, like black velvet
Creamy like black tar
Shoulders so broad and easy to hold
Let me lick that dip between your collarbone.
And pull all that hair that's grown
Curly black and matted to your scalp
Until the night has come
Until midnight is late.
Jul 12, 2013
Jul 12, 2013 at 10:28 AM UTC
As the line between our private lives,
& the public eye blurs,
all the old paradigms dissolve,
& nothing becomes as it was before,
only a few months more,
to get this riddle solved,
feeling like The Batman The Joker,
& Lois Lane all rolled in one,
my new name is Nigiri,
on a roll hot like wasabi,
my threads are all designer,
& my hobbies are all hobbies,
I am definitely not sure at all,
well at least definitely not probably,
babbling’ with talking heads,
while jousting with the walking dead,
because we’re up right now up right now,
that's right the life of the party,
& you all probably already know all this,
because the whole time was Live recording,
Instagram Live Streaming all the time,
I'm dreaming at the same time touring,
every moment recorded,
even when it's not at all important,
off script but don't trip,
because we're still part of the program,
so before I even wake up,
you already know the whole thing,
you already know what happened,
the night before the morning,
the Knight Before The Mourning,
sounds a bit prolific & prophetic,
at least a little bit don’t you think,
but what’s it matter the least little bit, if no one takes the time to think,
they’re just getting their nails done,
in the salon in the bottom of the boat,
as it sinks & we just think,
“Well I hope at least the lifeboat floats”,
in a bit of a panic,
like Leo in the Titanic,
searching for my romantic Winslet,
before we both sink in this disaster,
see I see you drowning in this sea,
& I still love you even after everything,
so I swim over & my hand I outreach,
hoping you'll grab hold before you sink,
so I can backstroke with you on my back,
& swim us both to an island beach,
specifically Leo's island,
you know the one Blackadore Caye,
he actually asked me to run the island,
said it was just a bunch of palm trees,
& I know this is reality,
even though it all feels like a dream,
so I close my eyes pray for better times,
then open my eyes to focus & blink,
blink,
blink,
blink,
blink,
the camera is always on,
the recording is always running,
this is layer cake no this is pound cake,
no this is the first ring around the onion,
onions in the sink,
got my eyes running made me think,
turned the water off got a wash cloth,
then took a moment to blink,
blink,
blink,
blink,
blink,
as the line between our private lives,
& the public eye blurs,
all the old paradigms dissolve,
& nothing becomes as it was before,
only a few months more,
to get this riddle solved,
feeling like The Batman The Joker,
& Lois Lane all rolled in one,
∆ LaLux ∆
from The Sydney Sessions
the follow up from multiple # best selling author Aaron Lux
new book available for FREE here: https://www.scribd.com/document/367036005/The-Sydney-Sessions-12-Steps
Dec 13, 2017
Dec 13, 2017 at 10:37 PM UTC
Road of peace
The tranquil poverty
of my soul .
Seeking an atonement
for the souls of the dead
on smoking paths .
Whispered words drift
into the tidal coves
of imagination.
Infinitely sad
the lost echo
of the echo.
A wrecked angel
of honor lost .
With a blade forged
in the fires of
disturbing experiences .
Through the noises
of trying to be quiet .
Lost in you in the shattered rain
I will be your Captain .
Captain of the side channels
the spaces between the
lines of the slow dreams .
She was one who
would be reborn
in a vibrant silence .
An unpredictable
ebb and flow
of rolling thunder
and eerie stillness.
A paradise reeking
of hidden meanings .
Jousting between
the waves and
the timberlands
was the almighty
quiet verb .
Oct 2, 2018
Oct 2, 2018 at 11:32 PM UTC
Look I know you bound me
Set a veil all around me
And it’s quite astounding
How I’ve been sounding
My heart starts pounding
Can’t breathe like I’m drowning
I need Solid grounding
If only time was allowing
In this rebirth I’m crowning
Smiling while she’s still frowning
I need to run from her hounding
I’m so tired of jousting
The straight line I was following is rounding
I keep running no matter what the sidelines are shouting
I can almost hear the crumbles of the walls around me crowding
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 8:08 AM UTC
This marble pedestal,
that has me so high up
like an extraterrestrial,
is causing a lack of oxygen
my thoughts drift from neurons
to the tip of my pen
so many questions without answers
so many things giving me cancer
my own thoughts jousting
after the sting of a friend's syllables
even though I try and be gold
they still hold me up
push me to the clouds
where I will die for want of air
but if I jump down
I drown
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 5:09 AM UTC
barely it was swaying terrifically in cotton wind of sharp niggling wafers that flummox specially the growling infant sea, this lake, where i am by and satting with my soft particular femme who's metal slithers from her very roundest nostrils glinting rather unobtrusive and stubbornly silver. and jousting by in meager dollops college children blatantly. a basic scent of nonsense huddles on the 2's and 3's (or mayhaps more) they slant upon the dappled lazy soil reticent and uncouthly tread upon with flats little souls. their heads are fat with gullible churning knowledge. they farted from the dusted books. that stately chord of mugging music. that lays in bricks and mortared sighs. on the hillest of tops over looking the cordial bay.
Mar 5, 2011
Mar 5, 2011 at 12:33 PM UTC
The party tonight should be good
I wonder if you'll be there
No, probably not
What's this fly doing in here?
I wonder what purpose a fly serves.
Does he know he'll die in 24 hours?
I hope so.
The sound of this washing machine is rhythmic
1, 2, 3, 4,
1, 2, 3, 4,
See, dirt, no, more,
Fresh, clean, for, me
1, 2, 3, 4...
Where's the five?
A five should be here
*why is there no god **** five?*
Oh well, back to the poem...
1, 2, 3, 4...
Are you thinking of me?
Do you miss me as much as I miss you?
I wonder if you'll just appear under the strobe lights
So I can make your face out
Through the screen of hallucination
Tonight
1, 2, 3, 4
This fly is still here
I hope he tries jousting with the ceiling fan
1, 2, 3, 4,
My, heart, is, torn,
Walk, through, my, door,
1, 2, 3, 4
I, am, so, high,
Lo-sing, my, mind
1, 2, 3, 4...
Oct 31, 2014
Oct 31, 2014 at 8:41 AM UTC
Face to Face
nose to nose
jousting breaths
teasing
every sense
in their bodies
Lips close but not
quite, so much to say
yet silence inhibited
all sense of speech
His hands
slid sensually up and down
her spine
strumming seductive moans
she was his cello
and he, her cellist
conducting a symphony
that she
and only she
can excel at
Jousting breaths
high moans
tender touches
skin on skin
it's just
ethereal
Jun 7, 2016
Jun 7, 2016 at 5:15 AM UTC
We turn the corner as we walk to our rooms,
When we see a figure at the end of the hall.
We think that they will turn to the stairs soon,
But we find that this isn't true at all.
The closer we become, the more awkward it gets.
We try to play it cool and look at our phones,
Knowing full well, we don't have no texts.
We think "It'd be better if I weren't alone."
When all of a sudden, as we walk even closer,
We remember the fountain; a savior at last!
Now we can end this jousting match with this poser.
And just act like we're thirsty real fast.
"I'll just drink here and wait for them to pass.
While in the small hallway, they have to walk around my ***
Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 1:22 PM UTC