Sins of the moment

by Keath   Jun 19, 2008

We moped the streets
At three o clock, 't was a night
Which will cease to exist
Until the rememberists are alight

The clay formed
A pattern beneath our feet
The circles of a life, drawn out
To leave a sprout of weed

A sinner located the devil
Down Mary Lane they went
Arm in arm, we wept on
Shoulders strong but not gallant


Did You Like This Poem?

Latest Comments