a rhyme in time
in the glory of death says soI find fuel and rebels to go
I find it all funny and turning
like candles and cars burning
I see midnights I see the end
I see streetcars roll and bend
I see trees in a living folly here
where truly nothing avails a tear
seek me here seek me not
this voice still living still hot
it is a matter of a tabled time
of being where no bells can chime
drive my wedge fill my shoe
soon there will be no place to go
sailors falling into the roaring sea
where the I no longer is a me
Poetry by Bob
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Written on 2015-06-10 at 14:48
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Jamsbo Rockda |
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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