thinking of how,
many lips must I taste upon to be called into the league of men -
how many times must I rush into love
to be felt for in the heart of many
who called the words of a wife upon their lives
how will this screen showing what does call
upon my meager stages of respect faltered on the palette of success
a war making wounds on heart of souls
souls dusting, upon how -
we talk without meter and rhyme.
the weak stupor of a young man in love with women-
year by this year, the morose souls will face death
and in some will this soul rest, as it is named after the deadwood.
No comments:
Post a Comment