Px
jeté dans la boue
naked on the road to nowhere
scars of a blushing moon lost
behind crusts of petri'd cloud
blue burnt black an' edges brown
torn an' spread out all around
ittas if hope hushed a thousand words
baked under her tuscan sun
and his travels laid down and died
|
silence can't utter past
winds in the road
high(speed) and ignant
a passage of life and her misery
awaiting a (re)turn
to (in)security in -a- (no)thing
Copyright © Ts Poetry | Year Posted 2020
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