Storm
The eye of a storm provides little to quell the stumbling gait of time
Fore shadowing the nimble minded gate crashers with a desire to leave
But flesh eating pores only spur the unending need to cry
Then flys continually drink away any tears
Causing shallow shivering thoughts to spill ripping tempests through the brain
These cold rivers of blood soak up all divine wishs
Splaying forever a dent in the core of being alive
Copyright © Darren Deichen | Year Posted 2007
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