WINE AND GATES
Days Gone By, With A Similar Need...
café lord
the switch is to cake and juice
the special is porridge
where we know the clouds kept many who'se
the still omnipresent smile from the kitchen
is a craving child the toe of the community
where the business is on the dishes
not tying ones shoe in public, which is the found tongue to deem
the order finally made
we have selected poached eggs and sausage
the penny's are collected and the hunger to fade
the life of silence has the essence of a stranger...
where is the bathroom?
can I use your catsup, do you have the time?
is this seat taken, is this paper yours, could I...
hey buddy, could you spare a dime?
a stranger with a suitcase in their hand
the tarry of yesterday is a beloved call to honor
the dependency of youth, is a working mile the act of a land?
the calendar fall's, in love with a soldier...
the thought of poor lips, in lou of a tooth
the patience of yearning for a calmer day, worth the lover's bid
the can of solitude is an imagined congeniality to rueth
the poignancy of courage for a sensible show for the is
of a place in the sun, where we all, have a kiss to keep
the pretty eyes of urges and purges of timid way
is ours, for a life in the sates of a callous need
ugliness is a charade of youth's with a hell to pay...
prices above our head, times with a bleached eye of hate
the tarter breast of common done, the very thought of candor
is the hunt of princes and the paranoia of a land, for the imagination of syrup...?
this isn't the day of counciled pace and the care of energy to serve...
being the tree's, of liberty is an awkward fist
the petty hour of songs and the dilemma for a sense in the hey
time in the mangled burden of another ... worth the pies
in the stead of a stodgy eye, is the fame of a juice and a cake...
how did the soldier survive...?
a little point in the carriage of days
this weal of seasons of fault, are your tears about to city?
upon the throng of squalor that said you were, ignoring ok...
the switch is to cake and juice
the special is porridge
where we know the clouds kept many who'se
the still omnipresent smile from the kitchen
is a craving child the toe of the community
where the business is on the dishes
not tying ones shoe in public, which is the found tongue to deem
the order finally made
we have selected poached eggs and sausage
the penny's are collected and the hunger to fade
the life of silence has the essence of a stranger...
where is the bathroom?
can I use your catsup, do you have the time?
is this seat taken, is this paper yours, could I...
hey buddy, could you spare a dime?
a stranger with a suitcase in their hand
the tarry of yesterday is a beloved call to honor
the dependency of youth, is a working mile the act of a land?
the calendar fall's, in love with a soldier...
the thought of poor lips, in lou of a tooth
the patience of yearning for a calmer day, worth the lover's bid
the can of solitude is an imagined congeniality to rueth
the poignancy of courage for a sensible show for the is
of a place in the sun, where we all, have a kiss to keep
the pretty eyes of urges and purges of timid way
is ours, for a life in the sates of a callous need
ugliness is a charade of youth's with a hell to pay...
prices above our head, times with a bleached eye of hate
the tarter breast of common done, the very thought of candor
is the hunt of princes and the paranoia of a land, for the imagination of syrup...?
this isn't the day of counciled pace and the care of energy to serve...
being the tree's, of liberty is an awkward fist
the petty hour of songs and the dilemma for a sense in the hey
time in the mangled burden of another ... worth the pies
in the stead of a stodgy eye, is the fame of a juice and a cake...
how did the soldier survive...?
a little point in the carriage of days
this weal of seasons of fault, are your tears about to city?
upon the throng of squalor that said you were, ignoring ok...
Comment On This Poem --- Vote for this poem
Days Gone By, With A Similar Need...
Days Gone By, With A Similar Need...
