spiralled into late goodnight floating

spiralled into late goodnight floating
reckoned by few to be of substance
I – the one to face your emptiness –
reel my tenderness by the small lake
where it all started

steamed into the late-night good bye
I load my last gun with I will not
daring the ransacked to be vain
we will not survive
we will not survive

(March 5 2018)



Poetry by Bob
Read 795 times
Written on 2018-03-09 at 11:54

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