Friday, May 18, 2012

Morning Poetry

Hand in hand
It speaks
None come around
Place ambition
One's submission
Where will the wind go
When will we take the blow
a man behind the shadows spoke
"At the time you least expect it"
"The process my son"
"You must respect it"
Grounds to feet
Trickle something sweet
To the top of my head
To break it free
And with that light they will scream
Laughter from cold air
Out of every corner
Beware
It follows
It lays deep
No worries
It will stay discrete
Only you will hear the voices
Calling you out
For a murderous meet
Decide what you will
I'll be in the back
Waiting for the kill

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