Tales


Deep into the sludge of men,
into the slag of industry
and disappointment,
into the fall out
disaccord bleeds
to no avail,
I set my timely sails
without hesitation, without
any hope of ever
see it all continue.

There, on the kitchen floor,
on the checkered tiles,
I met Knee deep
and his wicked wreck,
the tools that never
will be enough,
the short coming of I.




Poetry by Bob
Read 433 times
Written on 2011-04-14 at 23:12

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If the tale were to continue I suspect it would be the tale of the Phoenix. It's hard to keep a good man down.
2011-04-16