Death has many faces
Who is it that walks down my frozen hollowwith no time at hand and no eyes to spare?
Acid oceans cringe and turn in winds
we no longer care to embrace
with absence of fall out and old ways of no bones.
It is a pirate age we cling to
where all is bought or spent.
Poetry by Bob
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Written on 2010-03-22 at 11:04
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Editorial Team |
shells |
Charlie |
Texts |
by Bob Latest textsI seldom walkthere’s a rumor there will be no full stop so many regrets who am I |
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