burn, burn, burn, burn
retaliation is needed, because
in this dying breath of mine,
generations of poets and writers
hang off my lips, their words like a
throng of literary floods upon my conscience
lift me from this plane, because
if i remain, i shall become uncommon
gaining upon those who are also uncommon
hills will obstruct my way to the top, but
to hell if anything will stop me while i push and barrel through
set me down onto a bed of flames and watch me burn
YOU ARE READING
sprinkle in the woods (poetry #6)
Poetry"and it rains and rains and rains and rains for five more years and it's cloudy for ten once they leave, i'll be sunkissed i'll be the rock in the light illuminated simply by your presence my fallen star, you've finally met me and it's so lovely lov...
