These god-send creatures,
in which we prior-praise.
Most some hate,
in tune others love,
but feel both in most children.
Piercing into home,
and divide parent-child.
With broken glass,
that's polished by tears past.
Only held together once
by people moving fast.
They wish to move past,
forget the dreams past,
and seek these dreams perished,
In purpose piercing.
And going back in time,
is wanted by the petty,
but petty, pitied, pulled and pushed
in pain through politics.
When petty stops in sudden sense,
ideas slicing, stimulate skin,
slowly structure into mind,
until politics prosecute.
And broken glass holds only tears,
when the glass is full.
But spilled by petty people,
who let the fucker jump.
YOU ARE READING
Indentations
PoetryA book filled with my poems. Not all with be great, not all will make you cry. My hope is that all will make you think.
