there are but a few men left

there are but a few men left
that will not instigate or ignite
random fires of supremacy
just for the hell of it

men of the cloth drool
at the thought of nursery crimes
dead from the foot up
they see no need for leniency

charcoaled into the night
where visions of soft skin
calls for more wine
one needs to embrace himself

random selections boom
like erupting death
I see no one but you beloved
walking by my side



Poetry by Bob
Read 487 times
Written on 2017-12-10 at 11:13

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