Louis Borgo Poems

It was two Sunday's from a Wednesday ago
Abnormally cloudy implement of clutter of scotching hot day
A long day to captivate
Scent in the air torrent wind for sure love in the air
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Moved out on my own a responsibility take's place who could know of days of youth
To founding maturity as I lay days to rest a young lady move up stairs questioning where do I know her
From haste of paste of days take place-
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I am of man of flesh of blood of you my dear lord
For the reception of strength and health a prayer for today Vengeance set apathy man I am do not seek such a wrath And
I know I may only speak for myself but a heath in the night
The weather warns us to take shelter
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To debate is to liberate search to find what is to be intangible,
It is a dark circle to a pen to a paper,
So slow to hear the teacher, is this a tests?
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I pursed literature like a death sewer,
Unmask the mass and found a toxic sewer,
And came to what sound like a dad to past of a legion,
Poetry is what I found.
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Round and around
Like circles
Have you seen such perfection

Or are we perfection
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(i wonder what her parents would think of me)
impeccable is the beliveable if you just listen
lucrative is a much more charming effort
my dear......
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Savaging words daggling tongues apprehend you sick and tired I’m based
Ruthless up seen
Pass end mean of a cardinal for a rein
I was a part of this but never will it end with me
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