In The Pages
Something big is kicking in the pagesBooks are fading into bright city faces
Secret rivers run on fire and ruin is gain
Someone profiting from all this human pain,
There are ghosts wailing beneath the broken trees today
All is given away and taken slowly for a ride to sleep
Always in a borrowed bed or so to speak it may be said
Or swallowed like a poison breath of rented air
What is crooked and cooked to death and what is fair ?
I feel myself reduced to frozen rags and dancing in blatant graveyards
Nothing like a single thought dries rattling clutter in my head
No visions of love to revive a heart, where angels fear to tread
It's just dreams in the heavens, it's just the cut of the cards
The lowering darkness filled with seas of rain
Someone profiting from all this human pain
Secret rivers run on fire and ruin is gain,
Books are fading into bright city faces
Something big is kicking, in the pages
Poetry by Chaucer Whethers
Read 354 times
Written on 2021-07-17 at 17:06
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
|
Hans Bump |
