"perils" poems
Let the world always remember,
That fateful day in September,
And the ones who answered duty's call,
Should be remembered by us all.
Who left the comfort of their home,
To face perils as yet unknown,
An embodiment of goodness on a day,
When men's hearts had gone astray.
Sons and daughters like me and you,
Who never questioned what they had to do,
Who by example, were a source of hope,
And strength to others who could not cope.
Heroes that would not turn their back,
With determination that would not crack,
Who bound together in their ranks,
And asking not a word of thanks.
Men who bravely gave their lives,
Whose orphaned kids and widowed wives,
Can proudly look back on their dad,
Who gave this country all they had.
Actions taken without regret,
Heroisms we shall never forget,
The ones who paid the ultimate price,
Let's never forget their sacrifice.
And never forget the ones no longer here,
Who fought for the freedoms we all hold dear,
And may their memory never wane,
Lest their sacrifices be in vain.
09-30-10b.
Dec 30, 2011
Dec 30, 2011 at 1:31 AM UTC
A labyrinth expands before me,
Its only prize, the truth; reality
Awaits the shrewd of mind.
At every turn lie misdirections,
One wrong choice and I am
Lost, for perils lie ahead;
Webs of lies lie waiting for their prey.
I pray for wisdom that I may not fall,
Misguided by a ghost I thought I saw;
My own illusions turn me from the light.
The path ahead is cobbled from the shadows,
Bits of truth among them shining gold,
The only light to guide my weary feet
As Darkness beckons me with gentle hands.
Temptation offers respite from my search:
“Sit down and rest, poor ragged
traveler, you search in vain
For worthless lies. I tell the truth;
One as beautiful as I is honest, sure.”
I pay no heed. The truth is rarely beautiful or pure.
Jul 29, 2018
Jul 29, 2018 at 12:37 AM UTC
My mom says "frick"
or "fiddlesticks"
even when kids aren't around.
She's holding in
some of that pure, unfiltered rage
each time a plate is dropped
or toe is stubbed.
If only she'd just shout "OH ****
she wouldn't lash out
at grandma or sob uncontrollably later.
Someone once said to me, **** you!"
and I was happy.
It means they won't ****** me in my sleep
because they expressed verbal and not physical rage.
I was happier when someone told me "go **** yourself"
because I went home and did just that.
Speaking of pleasure,
the act of *******
burns between 85-250 calories,
improves sleep & your immune system.
Google it.
I've been ******
a realization &/or learning experience
having gone broke without a way to pay rent
resulting in the lesson of moving back in with the parents.
We can get ****** up.
A couple too many tokes &/or shots of gin &/or punches to the face.
We learn the perils of excess.
In third grade, I was ****** up by a group of 6-7 kids.
I learned I never want to experience THAT
uncomfortable feeling again.
Why is **** such a bad word again?
Jul 7, 2012
Jul 7, 2012 at 11:58 AM UTC
In my mind, I raced against time
I smoked peyote with the Apache
I chased Kangaroos
Through the bush with the Aborigine
All the while
...I searched for the power within me
In my mind, I outpaced time
I drew cave art with the Neanderthal
I climbed to the top of the mountain with the Sherpa
I hunted seal out on the frozen tundra with the Inuit
All the while
...I searched for the power within me
In my mind, I eclipsed time
I wrote poetry while under the tutelage of Langston Hughes
And I created visual greatness while apprentice to Gordon Parks
I even stood on the wall with Che' Guevara, like a Sentry standing watch
All the while
...I continued searching for the power within me
In my mind, I turned to face time
I wrote an addendum to the Emancipation Proclamation
And I saw the ugly truths
Of freedom's farcical Declaration
All the while
...I continued searching for the power within me
In my mind, I embraced time
I sought to free my nation from the pandemic perils of *******
And I prayed that we Americans would be free of
The snares of racial and economic divide that still has us chained
I did this while searching for truth, in this, our most tenuous hour
...then empyreally, God reached for me, touching me, and I finally found my power
* Reprinted from 'Exegesis a Decade of Poetry by Mekael'
© July 14, 2009 by Mekael Shane
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 2:28 PM UTC
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Feb 3, 2016
Feb 3, 2016 at 3:47 PM UTC
Ripe Mourning, so Crisp and Crackling with Life Waking or Life preparing to sleep.
A shift change taking place at dawn, both sleepers and wakers will share a Yawn, for worlds of dream or worlds awake, it's like Consciousness balances itself in this way.
I see a Blue Herron standing on one leg near the pond, ducklings waddling in a line behind their Mom.
I see children running and playing on the jungle gym, how appropriately named. Training ground for the perils of the Jungle ahead, the Jungle of Life.
" Welcome to the Jungle"
Everything in Life is a Test
Every Choice Molds your Future Self
Prepare Yourself, Prepare Your Children, Train them on the Jungle Gym.
"Welcome to the Jungle"
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 10:40 AM UTC
Take my hand
Let's get away from here;
Let us escape the intensity,
That is reality.
Let us wander:
Into the realms of imagination,
The spectacles of fantasy,
Stopping not once.
To reach the light, we must travel through the dark
Past the broken hearts
Past the sorrowed days
The dark is immense.
Past the antecedent
We walk through the perils of life
Of love, if it exists,
This is an uncertain time.
At last, the light approaches,
We reach the area of escapism,
But alas it's tampered
With the remnants of solace.
Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 12:41 PM UTC
The world's a bubble; and the life of man less than a span.
In his conception wretched; from the womb so to the tomb:
Curst from the cradle, and brought up to years, with cares and fears.
Who then to frail mortality shall trust,
But limns the water, or but writes in dust.
Yet, since with sorrow here we live oppress'd, what life is best?
Courts are but only superficial schools to dandle fools:
The rural parts are turn'd into a den of savage men:
And where's a city from all vice so free,
But may be term'd the worst of all the three?
Domestic cares afflict the husband's bed, or pains his head:
Those that live single, take it for a curse, or do things worse:
Some would have children; those that have them none; or wish them gone.
What is it then to have no wife, but single thralldom or a double strife?
Our own affections still at home to please, is a disease:
To cross the sea to any foreign soil, perils and toil:
Wars with their noise affright us: when they cease,
We are worse in peace:
What then remains, but that we still should cry,
Not to be born, or being born, to die.
6.3k
O rescue help the boys in dreadful cave.
Those adventurers could meet their demise
Unless in hour of crisis comes the brave;
But one by one emerge and none yet dies,
Unscathed though bruised from historic ordeals,
Escaped the jaws of death. Those left behind,
Our prayers they overcome their perils.
The tears flowing freely cruel minutes grind.
A strange surging water locking them in,
The force push them up to higher chambers.
Upon a mount waited; with anxious kin,
With families, monks believe still embers.
We salute rescuers' courage to save,
And one to God his precious life he gave.
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 3:39 PM UTC
Finally this day has come.
To get another go with the sun,
A year has it been since the daylight shun.
The shadows of Mordor were almost to get me done.
What a fine day to have an adventure.
Having to save a princess as a departure.
The signs are being obvious
Birds are flying back to the Mountain,
There is no time to be in bore,
I need to hurry and reclaim back my Erebor.
I’m in wonder of what she is doing.
Probably she made plans already by now.
Or maybe she didn’t decide on going.
Thought that she might be Lonely under the Mountain.
I have to get going to save her plain,
Must get her out quickly of that fiery chain.
But wait, What’s this?
My legs are unable to move.
Why is my heart trembling with fear?
I’ve been waiting for this my entire time,
I don’t get it.
I don’t get it at all.
I’m shaking pathetically,
This is getting ridiculously annoying.
Move it! Why is my body not responding?
I can’t control my body no more
It’s totally stuck!
Is the sun causing this?
But I’m no troll to be affected by this.
I’m the Bilbo on this journey,
I’m the appointed burglar
To steal the precious Arkenstone
So what’s happening now really?
Am I scared that much
That my own body is doing what I should be doing?
If this fear is about the journey I’ll take,
The dangers I’ll encounter,
The perils I’ll meet.
That wouldn’t be a serious problem for me not to go.
But it’s different.
This doesn’t make sense.
I need to get rid of this fence.
But It’s no use,
I’m stuck in this hole in fuse.
Stuck in this Shire,
While that desolator Smaug is causing fire.
I’ve forgotten the time.
The shadows are back.
Here I am underneath the moon’s refine,
Standing still in charcoal leather black
Not resisting anymore.
I completely stood in my own accord.
Tears are spilling down my face.
I can feel in my veins the sorrow,
And thinking about it made me wonder
If I can make it til tomorrow.
Then,
So sudden it came to me in a flash
The reason why I did not move
Why I did not meet her.
It’s because a year ago I was there.
In front of her.
My precious Arkenstone Under the Mountains
The kings jewel.
The jewel that rejected my tiny hands,
That reached beyond the Middle of Earth
Just for her.
The same jewel that replaced me with a greed of a dragon.
That burned the glow of what’s inside me.
And now I remember it all.
Clear as the sky above me.
I am no Bilbo Baggins.
There is no treasure waiting for me.
No adventure as destination.
Because this,
This is just the Anniversary of my Rejection.
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 10:06 AM UTC
Nero was not worried when he heard
the prophecy of the Delphic Oracle.
"Let him fear the seventy three years."
He still had ample time to enjoy himself.
He is thirty. More than sufficient
is the term the god allots him
to prepare for future perils.
Now he will return to Rome slightly tired,
but delightfully tired from this journey,
full of days of enjoyment --
at the theaters, the gardens, the gymnasia...
evenings at cities of Achaia...
Ah the delight of **** bodies, above all...
Thus fared Nero. And in Spain Galba
secretly assembles and drills his army,
the old man of seventy three.
4.4k
The gift of a loving and a platonic relationship.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The gift of a loving and platonic relationship
Having sorted the Philanderer or attractive
Elope if you will , be together in Gretna Green
****** lover ,being kept by a woman of means
Introduce a love potion or Philtre if you’ve one
Feast upon love if you have the energy for it.
The gift of a loving and platonic relationship
Oh too much ? I have heard , is so ******
Friends without any love making is platonic
And Platonic is OK but never satisfying
Love needs to be total never half-way
Oh the differences between loving n platonic?
Virtually all virgins are best to keep pure.
In that the longer you can stay that way is fine
Never try to keep pace with your peers
Goading and teasing you saying you’re queer
As first you really have to love yourself
Narcissism is acceptable at an early age.
Don’t you see ? Look in the mirror. Handsome !
Ask yourself a question.Am I not a fine beauty
Platonic is a name of a friend you couldn’t kiss
********** would be out of the question
Alive to the perils of the merging of the two
Torch songs of unrequited love over the radio
On an enamoured night of drinking red wine
Narcissism comes into play so frequently.
I saw it in my younger days. With pretty girls.
Collectively all trying to look the prettiest
Reality dawns upon the real responsibility .
Elevating your passion to the highest level
Let me take out the College girl every time
And talk about the meaning of life and poetry
To me the platonic relationships sustained one
In that *** never got in the way.
Only once the whole truth is established.
Necking and a cuddle in the back seat enough
*** later in life became a wonderful gift.
Having had so many platonic friends around
I think it gave me an insight to what life was.
Personally given my time over I would repeat...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Written by Philip
November 15th 2018.
Nov 15, 2018
Nov 15, 2018 at 7:36 AM UTC
It started as nothing but a jumble of
white and black.
Just a big thing in the middle of our
living room that my mother would
make beautiful sounds on.
Soon I was on the bench next to her,
my hands on hers
helping her make the music that
used to fill my days and nights
with peace.
I remember when it was her sitting next
to me, watching my hands create
something beautiful.
I’d never seen her with more pride
than she had in that moment.
Before long I sat at the piano
with a beautiful girl,
watching the familiar wonder form
on her face while I played.
I let the music bleed from my fingers
as that same beautiful girl walked into
the house, oblivious to the ring in
my pocket.
I was not playing the piano
on that day full of romance and hope.
Instead, a stranger was,
I was waiting at the altar
for a glimpse of my love coming
down the aisle.
When we got to the house by the lake,
she asked me to play for her.
I had barely finished the song
When we became one for
the first time.
I hadn't touched my piano in months,
Overwhelmed by the perils of marriage;
Bills, work, arguments, more bills.
As miserable as things were,
Our love never faded.
It grew stronger with every
Uncertain moment.
When that uncertainty became stability
And the hard work paid off
She surprised me with my own piano,
Atop it sat a bright pink bow.
Next to it stood my wife,
Her hand resting on her stomach.
I composed a new piece for the
First time in three years with a
Small bundle the same color as
The bow sitting in my arms.
That was the last time I touched the keys.
When I heard about the accident the
Next day, I closed the doors
Leading to the living room and
Sat in the nursery, holding my tiny
Daughter tightly to my chest.
My brother and I moved
The piano into the attic while my
Mother went through her things.
The piano stayed in the attic,
Even when we moved.
The only thing left of it a
Bright pink bow hanging
In my daughter's bedroom.
Dec 11, 2015
Dec 11, 2015 at 3:22 PM UTC
Oh, my Father in Heaven
Guarding me from all perils and trials
And sets my heart free of all clutter
For you, my songs of praise, I reserve
All my life, I shall sing
Without fail, in bloom or gloom
On every unfolding day
Through months and years
Till death and beyond
Let my songs sail across the skies
And with the chorus of the heavenly band, unite
Oh, the benevolent Lord of all creation
Custodian of all wealth
Contriver of birth and death
The Master Crafts man
Everything is your handiwork.
The lofty mounts
Veiled in misty snow
The verdant dales
Lush and still
The fathomless deep
Where mysteries peep
All the flowers
That bloom and wither
All things
Bright and beautiful
Everything, above and below
In all,
Let me behold thy grace
And sing Thee praise!
Oh! Redeemer of Mankind
Guide me through the dark
Guard my steps where dangers lurk
Hold my hand
And never loosen your grip
Make me face the light
Illumine me with wisdom serene
And fill me with love divine;
So that you be glorified
Here, on Earth
And in Heaven be!
Nov 14, 2016
Nov 14, 2016 at 7:12 AM UTC
Go ahead and try and take advantage
Of the situation that you’ve created
You’ve got an unhappy customer on your hands
A mad ************
That’s so impatient
Demanding his previous payment
No empty threats or bluffs
Just concrete threats,
That will be kept
And Carried out
If I don’t get the real deal
Or my previous payment
Tire slashes in your wheels
Heinous phone calls
Broken windows,
Mark your peril,
It’s only the beginning
It’ll only get worse,
If you keep me waiting,
You haven’t heard the last,
Perils and danger
Mark you every step
Go ahead and try and take advantage
Of the situation that you’ve created
You’ve got an unhappy customer on your hands
That’s so impatient
Demanding his previous payment
You better watch your back
And realize that this is a result
Of you attempting to take control
Of the situation you created
You got a crazy mad ************ on your hands
Demanding his previous payment
No empty bluffs all concrete threats
That will be kept
If I don’t receive the real deal or my previous payment
Jul 17, 2011
Jul 17, 2011 at 10:07 AM UTC
(A Stir of Fear)
A deep sigh seemed to have done some good.
Looking at her, anticipating, expecting...
Waiting for friends to arrive
In a place unknown to us both....
So lovely in her silence,
While going through a moment of anxiety.
It creates within me, a STIR OF FEAR...
Must I leave her? I must teach her, to be on her own,
Now...now? But how? Oh, how it breaks me...
There she stands, tall, in her black shirt,
Walking shorts, rubber shoes, backpack and
Electric guitar hanging on her shoulders...
Her hair, gathered in a bun at the back....
So naive, simply, effortlessly beautiful.
How do you let go of your eldest,
First granddaughter...soon to be sixteen,
When you are fully aware of the perils
That surround the outside world,
Even in broad daylight?
Aware of her innocence, her beauty, and
Most importantly,
The elements that could jeopardize her safety .....
Do I wait for her?
Do I watch her while with her friends?
Let her know, I mistrust everyone around her?
Almost told her I would wait for her outside...
It wasn't mine, it was against everyone's,
But it was her choice that I had to respect.
So, I left her there in her friend's house...
Dark street, dark alley, dark-colored gate,
Dark house, dark garden lights, everything
Was dark to my eyesight that very moment...
There was no peaceful moment, while at home.
The rocking chair at the veranda was a refuge...
My ever-faithful friend, kept me company...
There, I rocked myself, slowly, endlessly,
With the hope of my fears disappearing...
Thinking of what somebody once told me:
"There is nothing to fear, but fear itself..."
It had been a long day, a long night as well...
My bed time...but first, I gratified myself....
Took a glimpse inside the kids' room,
Where my eldest granddaughter,
Too tired to go straight to
Their house next door,
Was sound asleep,
Comfortable and warm
Safe from harm,
Here in my house.
And yet....
There are questions still running in my mind:
She has her parents, why do I worry so much?
How much longer can I protect her?
How much longer must I shelter her?
How do I deal with my next equally lovely
Granddaughter, also long-haired, tall,
Also with her own guitar and backpack,
When it is her time to go to a friend's house?
Will I still be around when it is time for the
Three younger girls to visit their friends, too?
Oh, God!
The ordeal of first times never ends.
(For Ashleigh)
Sally
Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 2:44 AM UTC
I'm an eagle,
that flies high above the basin.
Or, am I a snake navigating the forest floor.
Fate is what answers this.
It's cold reaches high and low.
One strives for the sky,
but walks among meadows.
Not knowing of twig they break,
or the path they wield.
Am I an eagle?
I would like to be,
high above the heavens.
Far from the roots that hold,
and nourish.
Am I a snake?
Meekly making way through thicket.
Always finding passage,
through life's perils.
Yes, only fate can answer this.
Fate will choose.
Jan 30, 2018
Jan 30, 2018 at 7:46 PM UTC
woman
you are
dazzle,
powdered
stomp of
colours,
mist dew
bright of
song,
melody
of a hum
when you
speak,
clear eyes
sparkle on
the surface,
delicate,
serene,
today you
said softly,
budge a little
in the path of
an evening sun,
it gets into my eyes,
you shall be
the death of me,
should I be left
with words and
rhyme,
these stiff
laces of device
I call poems,
of what use
are they,
you will
not be
here,
my heart
gnaws,
twists,
caught
in perils
of desire
oh garbage
words,
you are a
beggar's
lament
be away,
let me
gaze at
her while
time benignly
spins a top,
soon it
is bound
to topple
this alphabet
string,
pearl scatter
of a necklace,
be away,
verse,
futility,
to live in
a papered
world when
loveliness
shrivels
to another
lost moment,
be away,
illusion
let me see
it as it is
her yellow
dress,
gathering
light,
her terse
shades,
her yellow
dress
let
dreams
tarry a
little,
speckled,
hypnotized,
sunshine,
her
yellow
dress
shall be
the death
of me
May 12, 2016
May 12, 2016 at 11:08 AM UTC
He wove a weary comet streak
That stained the clear blue sky
He had no time to stop and think
But went a hurtling by
He warned of grevious perils
Dormant in coming days
I saw him with a sparkling eye
And watched through bleary haze
Nearing the horizon and eye limit
He turned and cast a wink
At what he loved and no one more
Then only did I blink.
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 8:56 AM UTC
I dreamed and did not seek: to-day I seek
Who can no longer dream;
But now am all behindhand, waxen weak,
And dazed amid so many things that gleam
Yet are not what they seem.
I dreamed and did not work: to-day I work
Kept wide awake by care
And loss, and perils dimly guessed to lurk;
I work and reap not, while my life goes bare
And void in wintry air.
I hope indeed; but hope itself is fear
Viewed on the sunny side;
I hope, and disregard the world that's here,
The prizes drawn, the sweet things that betide;
I hope, and I abide.
3.1k
Lost inside my thoughts at night, silence is muted by the noise of my own mind. A deafening
silence.
Life and death, so fragile, such short moments. Why do we live by them? Time itself is
defined by life and death. By the rise and fall of the sun everyday.
How to define this I am going through right now? I don't feel alive nor dead. Time does not
seem to exist here and now, as the entire known world to me.
Like a caterpillar, trapped inside a cocoon, morphing myself to a butterfly, unaware of the
changes on the outside, of the perils awaiting for her on the outside as she gets out in the
search of the prettiest flowers on the path that leads to her partner, having to guess what
way to go.
Will I emerge as a butterfly or as a moth? Can one choose? Defined by genetics, sure. But
that does not apply here. Self awareness and focus are probably the defining factors in this
case. And if so, I shall emerge out of my cocoon as a beautiful Monarch, to cross the globe
after my soulmate, in a difficult but rewarding journey. Facing all forces of nature to find her,
and to finally be with her to the end of my short existence.
I don't want to leave this capsule as a moth, to hide in the shades and wonder through the
night. I want to emerge as one of her kind, a beautifully delicately coloured butterfly glowing
and reflecting every ray of sunlight that finds her delicate silklike wings.
Aug 7, 2018
Aug 7, 2018 at 11:12 AM UTC
Yesterday,
Tender pursuits
Ordered
by shortened expression
And personal amusement.
Pleasure was channeled
by uncanny imagination.
Ignorance was developed
with years
of sheltered nurture.
Endeavors were focused
Through heartened dreams
Waiting eternities to age.
Today,
Life is starved of dignity,
Lead by the breath of humanity,
And trailed by my past.
Kindness overshadowed
by needless mockery.
Confidence diminished
Through thoughtless faults.
Purity saturated
with uncertain willingness.
Competence choked
from the flairs of society.
Tomorrow,
Independence is a necessity
Steered by Today,
Speckled by yesterday.
Motivation should dictate
my verdicts,
And challenge perils.
Agonies lifted
Through sanguinity
Virtue grown
Only through praise
From the satisfaction of many.
Yesterday, today, tomorrow
Immersed in today
Is the root of my future.
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 9:41 AM UTC
A gift to the world
With a rift to unfurl
A new baby girl
Will give it a whirl
But the water will swirl
Around the innocent pearl
A gift for this land
With the perils of man
And nature at hand
Before she can stand
She faces the brand
Of human demands
A gift for the people
She's a glorious sequel
That must build a steeple
Where everyone's equal
And prosper the meek will
On their own free will
A gift
A treasure
Will shift
Our pleasure
From the initial
Superficial
Towards
More words
With each other
As brothers
With a new sister
Removing blisters
A gift for all
She must answer the call
With a chance she'll fall
Into the ways people stall
To avoid an order too tall
Then just block up the hall
We receive the gift of life
From a man and his wife
That they present to humanity
So she may remove our insanity
Disarming the gun they handed me
She unwraps the gift of standing free
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 1:20 PM UTC
In Memoriam
What's missing is the eyeballs
in each of us, but it doesn't matter
because you've got the bucks, the bucks, the bucks.
You let me touch them, ****** the green faces
lick at their numbers and it lets you be
my "Daddy!" "Daddy!" and though I fought all alone
with molesters and crooks, I knew your money
would save me, your courage, your "I've had
considerable experience as a soldier...
fighting to win millions for myself, it's true.
But I did win," and me praying for "our men out there"
just made it okay to be an orphan whose blood was no one's,
whose curls were hung up on a wire machine and electrified,
while you built and unbuilt intrigues called nations,
and did in the bad ones, always, always,
and always came at my perils, the black Christs of childhood,
always came when my heart stood naked in the street
and they threw apples at it or twelve-day-old-dead-fish.
"Daddy!" "Daddy," we all won that war,
when you sang me the money songs
Annie, Annie you sang
and I knew you drove a pure gold car
and put diamonds in you coke
for the crunchy sound, the adorable sound
and the moon too was in your portfolio,
as well as the ocean with its sleepy dead.
And I was always brave, wasn't I?
I never bled?
I never saw a man expose himself.
No. No.
I never saw a drunkard in his blubber.
I never let lightning go in one car and out the other.
And all the men out there were never to come.
Never, like a deluge, to swim over my *******
and lay their lamps in my insides.
No. No.
Just me and my "Daddy"
and his tempestuous bucks
rolling in them like corn flakes
and only the bad ones died.
But I died yesterday,
"Daddy," I died,
swallowing the Nazi-Jap animal
and it won't get out
it keeps knocking at my eyes,
my big orphan eyes,
kicking! Until eyeballs pop out
and even my dog puts up his four feet
and lets go
of his military secret
with his big red tongue
flying up and down
like yours should have
as we board our velvet train.
2.5k
*journey slow
and so we go*
donkey carriage over cobblestone
cool morning air, crisp in purpose
head-cap on driver, huddling on whip
daisies on open field, bright faces up
sky still closed ere the eye of dawn
hot perils on heels towards that spot
baker shakes apron.. tiny particles
chemistry bursts into a rolling sun
*I swear it feels familiar
have you been here before?
only wish I could recall
what comes next..*
(hark.. nematoblast-pain!)
but how can one remember that
which....?
st - 22 march 2014
Mar 22, 2014
Mar 22, 2014 at 6:44 AM UTC