War of position

It is a stale
war of position
we dance to
every day and night.

Just a glance.
A rock that flares
is all I need
to fight love's
war of position.

It is not a shy cry,
no tears run free
of pallid sailors
on sister of no return.

So I burn, turn and wonder
where reason might finally
see itself and be, all
is a yearning.




Poetry by Bob
Read 539 times
Written on 2008-01-19 at 23:40

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