It's raining

Light legions of leisure
Leads lame followers astray.
I guess it's only for pleasure
But it doesn't belong to the play.

Peace of the present presents
All possible growth one can find
That all that is heavenly spent
Is a fleeting image in your mind.

Breathe you beast of the earth,
Cry at the ending of blue loss,
If living death is but another birth
I am the river you have to cross.

Seeping through floorboards of here
Where nothing beyond begins,
We detain our vocabulary sphere,
Transcending our previous sins.




Poetry by Bob
Read 792 times
Written on 2007-07-14 at 18:12

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angelwings
Wow! profoundly powerful message.
2007-07-15