Broker Poems - Poems about Broker

Treasury of candles imagined reawakening the exemplars who campaigns their coalescing. Prayer resurrecting unkept promises that fault mistiness veils of affections deeply confessed. Sweetly progressed a sinless tinkering of ifs and or buts, realizing an overdue quietus. Deja vu changes us, with sweeping preparations from make-ups to do-overs and cuts to that's a wrap. Formats gap of not to be awry and to prefer an alternate perspective...

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I grope gossips and chamois if chargrin and sense like there is forlorn and there is gruff and chide oh! if love be a centre of human life and existence why call for cracks and grudges? why profane like a night waves? can it behold to make excuses? to haunt and hallow ever? what contagion is a nightmare contempt? what conspiracy and blue contest? what went wrong...

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The dazzling sun outside on the rise The doctor through his teeth lies Cause of death, a newly crowned virus Making fools of the best of us They know little; we know a little less Whatever got us into this fine mess? A dysfunctional health system gone awry Our people, in the sun, to fry The ruling class to the rescue quick To broker...

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Bonjour, Banque de Bruxelles... Bonjour, beautiful Betty! Benjamin ...

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They fall over themselves Rush to tap on the blessing Urged on by the holy man Wallets are turned out Blessings are decreed Souls upturned await They study not the word Preacher has a direct line To the creator and maker #Luis 2017...

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To you my heart broker You force my eyes to rain tears And pains uneasy for my heart to endure I can't hang in with this disloyalty of yours Since You cultivate an avenging soul That won't forgive your misdeeds. You manufacture a hatred In my heart to never trust anyone I will hate love And bury all love affections in my sad...

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While planning which sermons to miss the fiction-broker static lies atop a pine-strewn precipice, his peristalsis boiling skies. The tumult teething down beneath the fiction-broker's solvent sighs concerns the crumbled ashen wreath, whose burning so the priest denies. As lanterns light procession tips sadistic laughs combine with cries; the fiction-broker slurps his lips at thoughts of those he does despise. ...

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I came to this world as Flinthead and departed as Openbill I was a Wall Street Stork Broker...

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