It must be Hereditary a curse upon my brain worrying every single day a worry from me to you is all i have to offer i see the silent pleas i feel the restless moving i can taste that bitter bile i smell the smoke that chokes i hear the voices same as you Dont choke Take my air Dont scream Ill take your fear Dont Cry Ill keep you dry I know where you lay amungst the silver leaves the golden roots of a bitter tree The light burns the darkness chills The thresh hold you dare to cross will never be seen again. In tempo we stride to the beat of two different drums one ripped and stitched almost in pieces one protected and almost silent An hourglass of eternity not held in the importance of a grain of sand but in the pulse and pound hot and quick March March March with me Nurture of Nature By Poem Prince
Posted on: Fri, 04 Oct 2013 05:53:16 +0000
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