Tonight we drive the broken road to the edge of stardom; holding hands.
Black as the moon, a poets tomb.
Vast and Wide.
Broken dreams and empty versus.
Forgotten plans flee the scene
for it's unclean..
And I feel that we are in danger.
The poets hand
scribbling in crayon
The prose scream out in anger.
On the edge of this land
We make our stand
While peering into the soul of a stranger.
No comments:
Post a Comment