Decided to wind back the words and restart the movies I once made and were, thus honing and sharpening them.


No more angels

There are no more angels hiding
in poor man's bush,
only hungry sparrows,
– winter starved –
waiting for the rush
in their feathery lives,
never confiding in sharp arrows
carved with chilly knifes
from cold, thin branches
where snow once reigned
in all aspects




Poetry by Bob
Read 1108 times
Written on 2011-05-27 at 19:19

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