All in a day


Wispy drops at dawn's calling
washes all dark mind moratoria
with a soothing touch.
It is the mother of all mothers,
the tear of all tears.

Venereal wishes of self pity,
dies to take the floor,
so full of longing for attention,
but withers at the touch
of the long morning sun.

The slanting afternoon spear
flies through the fleeing hours,
right through the feeble heart.
There is blood to account for,
there is lament to pay for.

When night quenches all regrets
and time folds into the shadows
it is customary to think of that
which is beyond the I,
pulling at all strings one can find.




Poetry by Bob
Read 442 times
Written on 2009-05-21 at 20:33

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