Destiny Beat
Mesmerized by summers fire-breathing;
These wounded hearts barely beating,
Crescent moons align in shuddered dark;
Enlightenment gives the stinging mark,
Upon the brow that is deeply scowling;
Hand to her chin, then she's growling,
A victim unaware of summertime's rage;
He touches hell for hope of heavens sage,
Destitute, alone in summers lurid poem;
The wounded hearts still beat on,
Still beating, two beats per second;
Then down to one he reckoned,
At the stop sign,
Until.
Copyright © Tim B | Year Posted 2012
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