grey skies in no doubt

grey skies in no doubt
wintry violins flee
naked wintry woods
for a different kind of fire
where sharp talons matter

rampant is one way
to live through the day
thoroughly lost
in places where the sumptuous
repeat day's misperception

derelict and well streamed
dared into the next level
fortified and still broken
one is I and I in you
fed by I the light

grey sky funnel flared
dreary and void of creed
surmised into a day
where I hold no meaning
I rave with being

straw me then
into a stabled hat
or a broom to feed the birds
my larynx is a matter
of fat fingers



Poetry by Bob
Read 842 times
Written on 2018-01-14 at 09:36

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