WINE AND GATES
do you remember the day we went to war?
hunt the angel
fury for the find of form
the bitter shell...
the grace to have the worm...
this resistance of cause, is more than we can tell
the firmness of our hate, for the reach of hell
maybe sincerity was a misery in fell
the throat of caution, in halves of searching, knows the well
drink of bury for the bind of boredom
the butter she'll
the grave to have the word
hunt the angel
for a method to water, sayeth the mad
for a hater of mention, thought a cooler head
for a regular sater of suck, the riches of had
for a sachred mater to kind, the toil of red
a flower for your throat
have you a coward in your nails dirt
it is how, to know, that gave the miracle to owed
by the virtauality of some, the role is hurt
for the world to smile once again:
what is the redress of our souls to a fool with nothing
the blind, the blade, the bleed of when
found with one, the tripe of a salt, to know loathing
tissue of salt and surprise
that age of war, is a modern day miracle
the thief of causes made in all complete, lies
has the scent of a day to fulfill
here is wisdom
the rhyme of meat and the sugar of please
is according to who is a neck strum
that much we know, for a star to ease...
hunt the angel
with a memory, in blank stares we welcome the ripe fortune to come
the left of survival is more than the city for which we fell
it is here, in our mouths, with a silent scream, we have a home
Epitaph of a toes sensation:
the road to hap is full of strangers, each with a door and key
for the requiem of souls to have, the light of love's vocation
here is your nimble tongue, here is your eye for money
fury for the find of form
the bitter shell...
the grace to have the worm...
this resistance of cause, is more than we can tell
the firmness of our hate, for the reach of hell
maybe sincerity was a misery in fell
the throat of caution, in halves of searching, knows the well
drink of bury for the bind of boredom
the butter she'll
the grave to have the word
hunt the angel
for a method to water, sayeth the mad
for a hater of mention, thought a cooler head
for a regular sater of suck, the riches of had
for a sachred mater to kind, the toil of red
a flower for your throat
have you a coward in your nails dirt
it is how, to know, that gave the miracle to owed
by the virtauality of some, the role is hurt
for the world to smile once again:
what is the redress of our souls to a fool with nothing
the blind, the blade, the bleed of when
found with one, the tripe of a salt, to know loathing
tissue of salt and surprise
that age of war, is a modern day miracle
the thief of causes made in all complete, lies
has the scent of a day to fulfill
here is wisdom
the rhyme of meat and the sugar of please
is according to who is a neck strum
that much we know, for a star to ease...
hunt the angel
with a memory, in blank stares we welcome the ripe fortune to come
the left of survival is more than the city for which we fell
it is here, in our mouths, with a silent scream, we have a home
Epitaph of a toes sensation:
the road to hap is full of strangers, each with a door and key
for the requiem of souls to have, the light of love's vocation
here is your nimble tongue, here is your eye for money
Comment On This Poem --- Vote for this poem
do you remember the day we went to war?
do you remember the day we went to war?
