The night
Wrought by the tenuous tales of the wired,
by the starry bones of all wishful tomorrows
I steal stale echoes to enforce my distance
and motion to the ever coming end of days
with trials and juries of all circumstantial creed.
Significant to the other walking down the aisle
I see no promise or vow that halts the day
nor serve as water beds with lilies in the night
where silence holds you to the beginning,
nothing more, nothing less.
Poetry by Bob
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Written on 2006-09-04 at 09:21
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Texts |
by Bob Latest textsI seldom walkthere’s a rumor there will be no full stop so many regrets who am I |
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