IM squezzed into this empty box,
engulfed by some restless
thoughts, and reading a language
that only the bipoler peaple can
hear.
FIRST its white,
then its green,
then the apostles start to scream,
turn on the lights,
turn on the lights,
turn on the lights, and watch the
shadows slip away.
DAVID, YOU DO IMPRESS, WITH YOUR OWN NICHE OF THE DARKSIDE...I CAN READ & WRITE THIS STUFF ALL DAY...THERES ALWAYS A NEW PLACE TO FIND YOUR DEMONS...BUT ITS WHAT YOU DO W/ THEM IS WHAT CREATES THE LEVEL OF READER INTEREST....A TEN FOR 23 FITZ '''''''''''''''''''''''''FRANK
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Wow, Hi David I think you have me hooked on your poems they are so different and unique. This one you sound frustrated about life I guess. Take care excellent poem.