Pariah.
They call me a Pariah.Someone I might be,
or someone inside of me.
I'm just cultivating a refined taste
by sundown - I'm an epicure.
Desert nights are mild,
and in seriatim,
they try to tell me something.
Ghost wired a child,
excelled in beleif,
religion let him down,
he's in disbeleif.
And not getting dire remuneration,
he wishes to be relinquished.
What is up? -
The sky.
What is down? -
A lie.
And always remember that, child,
my Pariah.
Poetry by John Ashleigh
Read 1360 times
Written on 2007-06-11 at 14:38
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by John Ashleigh Latest textsDesignDylan. In between love. Transcend. Fingertips. My favoritesNightlightPhoenix Seulement One Week from Tomorrow. Betrayed |
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