summer shadows
The overwrought grin and creep
To write their way to sin and sleep.
From little fingers come little pencils
To co-opt what lingers with co-opted stencils.
So shall dearth be death despite stolen breath;
but, stay as stolen token--
abided, perhaps, by memory's sullen choking?
And the moral is, no morals are;
it is but coral, no sky of stars.
To write their way to sin and sleep.
From little fingers come little pencils
To co-opt what lingers with co-opted stencils.
So shall dearth be death despite stolen breath;
but, stay as stolen token--
abided, perhaps, by memory's sullen choking?
And the moral is, no morals are;
it is but coral, no sky of stars.
Labels: poem
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