Eye Baggage
how desperate
the disparate
the they that are
seperate
and hypocrite
whose bassett eyes
have weary arms
and longest hours nocturnal
are gardeners of distraction
without traction
how wary
are those weary
whose clock hands
dig and bury
with blistered palms
with seeping eyes and open arms
brandish brimstone in fistfuls
trod God and shout skyward
how sad for a mite to incite
refuse to be
might with insight
how sad to be man
with no compass
Copyright © Sean Cosslett Moore | Year Posted 2007
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