On the edge from massive yearnings
tiptoe and sharp
straight into evil jowls thru earnings
instead saved by the angelic harp
Madness seeps into thinking
poisoning light
changing the hope of not sinking
into a deprivation of sight
A cleansing is hurtful, it pains
politely red
A shearing of all lions' manes
to steer the soul from the dead
No comments:
Post a Comment