A Revision. Poem by Raihan Ahmed

Cut the cliches, I swing to give me a rhyme or reason, to flow freely as water or wine. Your champagne bubble will take you down to st. nicks where you join the usual morning crew. The mournfully distraught, the youthful daughter who asks 'who killed chivalry? ', and the crook eyed elderly who jibbered 'the apocalypse is coming! He told me! '. And the the formalities of forgotten ones, however some remain. Hearts engraved on the walls, brushed in gold and other letters given the honorable mention, so hold back the burning in your throat. knocking baby teeth is as low as you get. isnt it?