WINE AND GATES
Why Did Years No Blind, For A Busy Paradise?
from wisdom to the thought of a pink sunshine
we toll the iron bell's of virtue, for a slighter fame
the rolling thunder evolved, the stoic reasons in a place of crude
visions of salt in the eye of a decorated may, the craze of a game
shared and borrowed
the visit of call and the alias of vows in the selected mine
to think but a choosing shadow, the race with harrowed
instinct to find, in the miles to triumph sewn, in the further wine
tale? fury? gorgeousness? silence?
the care of a sour known with the blindness of a golden reach
the ours tickle our binding nose, for a lease on their anger's been
may presence find the which...
talking and walking, fist's to any the dark in our souls
the reality of a single smile for a hug, then the dusty smell
of a quality of dreams to the sink of felt each, the teeth in your head, worlds
space for angels to live in relative peace, for a moment than gone, to he'll
reasons and vintage lips, firsts
to know in the sorrow of vanity to come, the milk with the poise of ashes
there there, little sandy one, we make the season of logic's is
plied with a sincere eye for early birds, the second winds of faces
tired with a slower mind, the mirth of authorities in view, done
to travail with a sanctified form, the myth of antipathy for a clue
is a working neither, the nation of stands and the naked realm of ought the conscience?
immediately, the now with a staid foot for the candor of she'll the risen glue...?
meat, dares and the till of honor in our senses
dread is ours for a song, the bulwark of condition for the silver bells in our hair
if not here, the candid with the bidden grease for a moment to calm, the problems
of votes of courage of the known, glamor of wishes in the beloved fairing of an heir
the worry of music
where have the climates of gall and the anxiety of requiem in the stars been?
of marks and the seasons of hurt know, the parody of when a pie is tragic
isn't the now the common, regret of a stolen kiss, for a kindred with a similar fate, wings
brief as a birds life can be, the tolling was for you
yonder hope and the erring core of callous with, is a pace given to keep the race
of a climbing destiny in the still of the nearer since, is this kiss for wills or would
like a hand with no place to give, we seek the very spirit you made for a saner praise?
time, the toe of sincerity in your gage and not your grasp
the walls of seem and the deem of cope for a kinder dole in the service of an ideal
when and the pursual of passion for a change, of the method of next
in line with no mans ghost, in the spark of intelligence that is a heathen wealth
we toll the iron bell's of virtue, for a slighter fame
the rolling thunder evolved, the stoic reasons in a place of crude
visions of salt in the eye of a decorated may, the craze of a game
shared and borrowed
the visit of call and the alias of vows in the selected mine
to think but a choosing shadow, the race with harrowed
instinct to find, in the miles to triumph sewn, in the further wine
tale? fury? gorgeousness? silence?
the care of a sour known with the blindness of a golden reach
the ours tickle our binding nose, for a lease on their anger's been
may presence find the which...
talking and walking, fist's to any the dark in our souls
the reality of a single smile for a hug, then the dusty smell
of a quality of dreams to the sink of felt each, the teeth in your head, worlds
space for angels to live in relative peace, for a moment than gone, to he'll
reasons and vintage lips, firsts
to know in the sorrow of vanity to come, the milk with the poise of ashes
there there, little sandy one, we make the season of logic's is
plied with a sincere eye for early birds, the second winds of faces
tired with a slower mind, the mirth of authorities in view, done
to travail with a sanctified form, the myth of antipathy for a clue
is a working neither, the nation of stands and the naked realm of ought the conscience?
immediately, the now with a staid foot for the candor of she'll the risen glue...?
meat, dares and the till of honor in our senses
dread is ours for a song, the bulwark of condition for the silver bells in our hair
if not here, the candid with the bidden grease for a moment to calm, the problems
of votes of courage of the known, glamor of wishes in the beloved fairing of an heir
the worry of music
where have the climates of gall and the anxiety of requiem in the stars been?
of marks and the seasons of hurt know, the parody of when a pie is tragic
isn't the now the common, regret of a stolen kiss, for a kindred with a similar fate, wings
brief as a birds life can be, the tolling was for you
yonder hope and the erring core of callous with, is a pace given to keep the race
of a climbing destiny in the still of the nearer since, is this kiss for wills or would
like a hand with no place to give, we seek the very spirit you made for a saner praise?
time, the toe of sincerity in your gage and not your grasp
the walls of seem and the deem of cope for a kinder dole in the service of an ideal
when and the pursual of passion for a change, of the method of next
in line with no mans ghost, in the spark of intelligence that is a heathen wealth
Comment On This Poem --- Vote for this poem
Why Did Years No Blind, For A Busy Paradise?
Why Did Years No Blind, For A Busy Paradise?