running from the terror
of a midnite moon..
so soon..and with
bated breath..
an eagerness
that develops
like a photograph
where all light
escapes thee..
reasonable thought
dashed into the fire
and the smoke and flame
was what was left
after the madness
and shame..vapours
poured out on paper
and so you signed
your soul away..
living what was
left..after the
morning paper was
left on your doorstep..
and so soon the elevator
brought you closer
to your maker..
and so nearly lost
your breath..
the first born
and the last one
to die..waiting
for the nowhere man..
to bring forth some light..
By Rick Weber
December 12, 2011
copywritten
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