solemnity rests with roots

where boisterous men walk
late night rambles on hot wire
feeding birds of a bleak future
with yards of infamous scripture
the sorely made late in place
forming in the formality

grasping is overrated and boring
the weirdness of night's marching
is a fluent tirade at best
a futile longing breath
for tributary people running
with ceremonial serpents
on a slithering leash




Poetry by Bob
Read 722 times
Written on 2014-12-19 at 20:13

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Wow!! ... love this: "... a futile longing breath
for tributary people running
with ceremonial serpents
on a slithering leash "
I like the whole poem.
~Ashe
2014-12-20