Many dawns & moons have passed,
Hence the time of quill in hand,
Guiding ink of marginal light marking spots of expression,
Puddles of murky fluid flood into a past tense image,
Tutelage in units form inclusive paragraphs due to pressure,
Every word or slur bears a fork to later dry like hard sand!
Introducing hieroglyphic sheaves from the minds inner walls,
To be broken down like fractions and spread throughout,
Desolate times measured to my brow pass my chin,
Structures of a church turned into a salvage yard no longer sacred,
Only to those outsiders looking in; scratching in puzzlement motions,
Calligraphy in Japanese graffiti illustrating a moral less era,
The need of changing times in the lives of hopeless patrons!
Apologetic fore those some, those few whom just cant see it,
The human laws of nature tis of blame; thus the drowning of my quill,
All the festive treason & destruction amounts to one of the same,
Which mustered from days of yore thus into a mental & physical frame,
Right before our eyes though the retinas seem weary,
In conjunction with assumptions pumping daily,
The allegiance between the heart & eyes,
Infatuations of the mind coming to blows with the edge of my quill!
Written by: George W King © 2004
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