Tuesday, 30 November 2010

an old poem that kinda rhymes

The light that is

the light that lets us live
every fickle cobbled street
is glorious

crowds or flakes of imagination
in my mind start a conflagration
of all the things only i do know
and if i chose a picture so

it would be tryptich of desire
as the flames of passion soon take fire

burn memory and truth in fact
and do most strongly hold my pact
that i will live eternities
to visit pleasures
such as these

No comments:

Post a Comment