The Tremendous Wait, by Tim Pozzi
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The mandolin plays,
a few strings to stay up close
because the night
hasn't the clever melody
to keep her warm.
Enshrined, encased
in the blues of him whom
was the cause of that pain,
the same the place the stain
is never going to come out.
Some short reasons,
a few for certain doubt.
All forgotten promises
and the flouting of convergence,
news isn't truth it seems. |
| Posted: 2011-11-01 06:01:38 UTC |
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| 2011-11-01 20:06:05 | lance |
| i am as real as it gets writing comes to me so easily its almost scary all the poems u seen on my page are indeed my works no parodies no fooling around i take my writing serious if you would concentrate on your own work you may do better so thank you for taking the time to read my stuff...have a nice day. |