Last night in rural London,
mangled in elastic clockwork...
From the bottom looking up,
the ripples of souls...
Graceful creatures
entice my skin...
And nobody knows,
The words whispered into a pillow...
Why did you make me a fighter?
Thought you did me a favor...
The man with a sign on the corner of the street
He wouldnt be out there begging if he had enough...
Dream as if you can fly, and deceive all,
Let the night fall into comfort and more...
Brooding, ego blistered
hardly glancing, storming by...
Dream.
Armistice has arrived...
How do we take horrifying
situations and turn them into...
Life's grandest moments
through flowery fields...
This writers block disembowels my words
leaving me speechless and the world...