A dead man rises,
As the old man said.
We're in a crisis.
We too will be dead.
These earthly bindings,
Is what we shall shed.
Before our demise,
Before we're all dead.
These words that are written,
They're like needle and thread.
Stich together the pieces,
And sew these poems into your head.
In great Britain,
It is to be said.
That little boys and girls,
Will soon to be dead.
Ha,
These deep words in dread.
I never have mistaken,
These words but instead,
I write til there's no words in my head.
Please listen,
I said,
I said it again.
I glisten,
To the sun's thoughts and I spread.
I can't even feel you kissin',
My head.
I hate it,
I hate it,
We're all soon to be dead.
Why won't you listen to these needles that thread.
YOU ARE READING
|°Simply Structure°|
PoetryPoetry has always completely held me together. It's kind like how you breathe oxygen. It's something I have to do. Poetry is something like oxygen to me. Without it I wouldn't survive. ~ remember love is a crime and I'll do the time for loving what'...
