Bruised
Passing through, a passer through
Glimpse of the town under moon
True it left a sense of overused youth.
Stuck in a hamster ball,
As wide as you're tall
Keeping life alive is all
Dinner in 30 spins, make the call.
Clammy and cautious
Like preserving in a bathtub with ice cubes
God wasn't right, he was rude.
Cursed to puff up statements
That don't edify my placement
Of keeping straight in it.
Porous roofs let rainfall
Your pourous personality keeps you on the wall
Not spontaneous at all.
This town looks red
Frustrated and sky's come for the dead.
Fog interacts in your head.
Like you showered and left
To a cold situation,
Like the ski hills out west.
Or just a steamy head
And all the words you just read.
This town has patterns
That weave into lanterns
Light so bright
That beams into Saturn.
Relaxed people do it better
Grab your conscience and your sweater
Put yourself together.
I am one among,
People strung
For the same idea
That made them sing.
Copyright © Patrick Farley Iv | Year Posted 2017
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