On top of the world...
In front of the type,
Of Crowd.
A bright thought crossed the mind,
A light that entails,
The vine in which brings,
Score to the world.
We all pay a price.
But not all give in,
to the scenes that we could be in.
We scream,
We shout,
Come all as one,
Pout.
And when the crowd backs away,
Goes home for the next day,
Our bright lights shine all the more.
For the vines of our day,
reach out for the vines of the next.
--
April 30th, 2014
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Decadence Hackneyed
PoetryTo decline unoriginal works bears Decadence Hackneyed. First poetry book in the Expostulate Series. A personal reminder to stay original. Written in 2013-2016.
