Dead Of Winter

In the dead of Winter we are alive
Like a lone dissenter I arrive
Go pick your cherries and thrive through falls of questionable acts
Compose your face is frozen race is frost and fire a storm of facts
In the chaotic pandemonium epic saga of water, dirt and Light
Screams of lust and thirst and dust is drowning for a fight
Is looming over astral plains the hominid brains are spoiling in their craniums
Like over picked geraniums they seem to bloom and burst
The best is ruined the ruin is better for the worst of times
And all these rhymes are like charred signals, midnight vigils kept and broken
Screens spill binary souls into the forests of our bought and sold little dreams
Are all there is to hold onto now it seems
In the dead of Winter we are alive,
Like a lone dissenter I arrive . . .




Poetry by Chaucer Whethers
Read 60 times
Written on 2017-01-11 at 01:13

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