Louis Borgo Poems

I ask the lord can i have the strength to smith thee,
skepth like a rod,
apathy to loath thee,
where is a truth pastor to loath me,
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Victory is of thought,
Wonder is to conclude,
And mind is self of meaning.
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Whats the point,
young gentelmen young gentlemen,
the point of the matter is,
base on fact,
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I feel i have the tradition,
as a sponsa,
and as a man to say of speaking to woman of adultory,
without casting a shadow becoming one there is no word for one man.
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FOR ME TO WIN IT HAS TO BE SOMETHING IN IMPORTANT.

WHY DOES HE HAS RUBBER BANDS ON HIS ARMS, THAT QUESTION SHALL BE DISCOVER AS YOU GROW WE THE GAME.
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If the sky was a river would you come bond with me,
If the sun was a ball would you come and ball with me,
Just hints to the wind.
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Like a blood omen, Im my brother keeper,
Business and political is like oblivion it never works out,
so sit and take notes of why i should be a better me.
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This curse ambera tundra, hell bound between a street and a corner is what i call home.

The gemetric figuare, it sit with no pattern or rhymetic, but yet with class. class of middle class workers and classmates that made the name home sweet home.
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Oh how memories fade,
and cats play with shades.
like a slideshow uh....
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If vivid was that of a craft,
could image be found that in a hat,

If van gouh could make a tower beautiful,
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