Poetic-Poetry

Last week, the Sun engulfed the Earth And it begged to be forgiven. Bullets and bells are two things that make us cover our ears to save our selves from the Ringing. There was a morbid intonation to that one, for sure. The Wilds pressed their heart-filled chest against mine and whispered, "You can." Candlelight O candlelight, do you hide from the flame or my shadowy figure skulking about the wall? There are brief lines I think about and I'd like to write a poem about them. Someday, the dim electronic lighting will stop forever and there won't be a soul to miss it. All of my heart and soul belongs to you but you don't know that you are you. Frequently, there is death and frequently, we take care of those who die. Choices to make are filling the air like butterflies released from their sanctuary. Some of them did not make it. Okay. If we ever meet again, Mister Sandman, do you think you could play that tune that I've loved and cherished and hoped for for so long? It's all very quantifiable, the length of time spent bathing in one's own bath of sulphur, blood, dried asphalt, woe, happiness, wretchedness, shiny apparatuses, and water. Overboard, you go. She went. When will the ache of the unexpected joy cease? Rich men will covet until the wealth is evenly spread amongst the cosmos but it will take time that nobody has to offer. This is simplicity, I'm afraid.