ol' wives tales he said
ol' wives tales he saidlifting his tumbler
to the omniscient sky
in a misty lifted bar
the red crossed sky
reeked of invitations
and a further more
dead raters call law
seemingly accustomed
waylaid finds his key
at the perpetuity of errors
in a final play
it is the night of dead ends
a call for more
in halls of locked up
with lore and solitude
thus encumbered
the tumbler tumbles
'fore painted faces
and solitude on sight
lights go dim
wet streets beckon
afterthoughts halter
clocks are ticking
Poetry by Bob
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Written on 2014-05-14 at 23:17
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