Passageway speaks today.A Poem by Lee W. Deason
Stick it deep into the midnight.
Explosions will answer with your response. I might like it, I might not. It's maybe not maybe so what I want. For the scenery to shout back at me, with jagged teeth. It's beautiful to see. Looking down to the point again. Of what I wrote, it makes me choke. I might like it, I might not. It's maybe so maybe not what I want. To cast this cloak on the resting. Never to look again. The arresting grip of empathy. Walks along the side. Waiting for it's chance to die. For the scenery to shout back at me, with jagged teeth. It's beautiful to see. The iced up expression in your eyes, says it all. It's beautiful to see. I got through to you. Between the barrier of past, and remembrance. I got to you, deep. Like the door will always answer when you come late. With a creek. I listen to the reverberation of my defamation of character. It's eating it's wearer and haunting it's bearer, twisting character. In the midnight, where the explosions don't like you. Where I don't like it, and I can't tell if you do. That's my passage into this world you're tearing down. She's not the criminal invading my temple. One day you'll remember the burn again. That puts you in. The grave again. So let it go. And you sold my soul. Now I wait in the midnight. Walking along the side. Waiting for this to die. For the scenery to shout back at me, with jagged teeth. It's beautiful to see. The iced up expression in your eyes, says it all. It's beautiful to see. I got through to you. Between the barrier of past, and remembrance. I got to you, deep. Like the door will always answer when you come late. With a creek. © 2008 Lee W. DeasonFeatured Review
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Added on May 23, 2008Author
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