Foxhole

orignally posted 11/16/12

Follow me into the foxhole.

Where time stops on the drop of a dime

And danger's only a dollar.

And as the slow strum of the requiem builds.

Fill your cup with whatever wine

Or cheap liquor your desire.

In the maelstrom of f**k's given,

I tip my hat to the man who hands out nothing.

Between clenched teeth

He bares the symphony of a sinner's choir.

As we bare ink likes rings on a tree.

Clothed in skin of sheep and rabbit,

We play the fiddle for the man possessed,

For the women we've desired.

As intentions is the key,

We sing a subtle melody

Of character and ambition.

In the foxhole, we dance under the moon

Howling and hoo-ing like rabid beasts

With thirst for a feast of lamb chop and teat.

But all is sung, in the ink drop niche

Of a canvas with golden perspire.

Author's Note

I'd really love some feed back. check out my blog cause i'll be the msot active right there.

Reviews

[Falon Quirke]

This very nice! Very Interesting poem.