The Mice
As gold encircles the last blades of grass
Busses patrol for the maiden class
The world awakes the cigars burn out
Peace falls second to chaos downtown
The cats then chase their tails till dusk
Certain of promises will be kept in trust
Dreaming the dreams of reality kings
Of absolute truths and biblical things
But those who call the darkness their day
Prefer the eye of the hurricane
Like a fresh fallen snow that reposes the fields
That silences the highway beyond the hills
A piece of the moon most never will know
To call the stillness of night their own
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
