DaysA Poem by Ripped Denim 💜
each and every passing day
a hundred billion verses are spun like threaded gold, flaxen and fay mystic notions as old as the sun of spritely spirits new and glowing of ethereal flights of impish fashion of unsightly ghouls ghastly moaning and chthonic bubbles of muted passion only a thousand take any form from the jealous jaws of Chaos torn seeds of esprit, reliefs of regret a pool of tears and blood and sweat a futile rebellion on Time's void a crumbling carving of words employed only a hundred ever find name reverie's tangled jungle made tame writing proofs of living souls writhing and wracked upon shoals fleeting flickers in the cosmic Night hoping and yearning with timid light only a handful are thus sown and only this one is my own sparse evidence I was once here journaling my emotive exhaust: a bible of my loves and fears testament that I am not quite Lost © 2019 Ripped Denim 💜 |
StatsAuthorRipped Denim 💜FLAboutBad backwards is dab. Dabble. Like a bad haiku. I dabble in bad. more..Writing
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