THIS galaxy splintered into domestic
artifacts,theres a absence here,and
a ominous argument that ends with a
hand shake,yes both sides agree to
but the repetition digs and digs ,
untill it hits the right spot,
THIS galaxy cloaked into a haunted
silence,i smell the gunfire ,and dead
peaple,and bombs that kill everything
but cockroaches ,some times i sit
and cry,,then ask god ,was this part
of your plan,or should i turn off this
tv,but the repetition digs and digs,
untill it hits the right spot,,,

Poetry by david gerardino
Read 630 times
Written on 2006-12-07 at 20:38

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