Little God
I am no poet
Only a little God
That
Writes like one
words
In
The
Bell tower
here A lovely wound
Burns
Where my chest laboured
And
Emaciates
The
Fiction I
Carry
No longer divine,
I will
Likely drown
In the wake
Of
This
Humanity
You would do better to
Find someone else
To read.
These words
Rocks
Falling off of
The mountain
Hard and
Asleep at the wheel
They will crush you
As you speak
Copyright © Tomas Vincent Marra | Year Posted 2017
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