another poem
October 30th 2009 00:05
scratch the leaves because when you come home,
the fish will be waiting for you,
draped over seven pans and burping up memories,
where the waters end and the mind begins that’s is where we can once again meet
the pools between the worlds told the truth this time,
and i set fire to the forest so you cannot escape.
the fish will be waiting for you,
draped over seven pans and burping up memories,
where the waters end and the mind begins that’s is where we can once again meet
the pools between the worlds told the truth this time,
and i set fire to the forest so you cannot escape.
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Comment by Fremen
Tennis
Progressively Worse
I like this one way better than that other thing you call a poem.