Poetry Blogs (he)
is not yet an old soul. Such apprenticeship has not yet begun.
Studiously she watches as you cite your second hand wisdom.
Bested by her innocence, such familiar nostalgia withers like the thick layer of dust it hides beneath.
Shaken and bruised like brine against an ice cube, the vermouth of your ideals is poured into an ill fitting glass.
Left feeling dirty you turn to d...
Saturday 23rd December 2017 6:57 am
He carried his gun
like it was some kind of lucky token
He had put flowers in the barrel
adorned it with lucky charms
that would protect him,
help him survive.
around his neck
would turn bullets into water,
grenades into sand,
ganja would keep him fearless, and
They were defenceless
little more then ten y...
Monday 19th July 2010 8:16 pm