the sounds of the enemy
hammer my soul,
my heart makes
beating thunder
on the morrow.
when the sun rises
every blessed virtue
becomes torn asunder,
when the red light wavers
i see terrible, deadly summers...
the first and last of every
supper; glimmer ghostly
scheduled parties.
love something fierce strongly
in the final show
act iii, after
the crescendo.
No comments:
Post a Comment