There the Rhythm Goes
There the rhythm goes,
With the drum, as we pose,
As the time goes by,
All the way with rhymes
Being made so fine,
Blessed, through with zin;
Though in this solo slime
Being bound with hollow crimes
That forsakes the being of Christ;
But we will always try,
If tough, even with cries,
To reach the maker of life,
With Prancing Poems and Poetry.
Copyright © Pikin Amerasb | Year Posted 2017
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment