Love Poem by Derek Fitzpatrick
Love
The sun beats down
With a tribal sound
Onto Love's bloody battlefield,
The Knight of Chivalry,
Swings his sword at will,
But he's dropped his battleshield.
There was once a beautiful garden..
All wounds aren't clocks,
Time can't repair all,
Their hands don't heal.
My veins grind,
Like a million snakes fighting
For their last meal.
Thursday, August 9, 2012
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5/5/2024 12:14:14 PM # 1.0.0.1119
