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Seer Garth Poems
Blood is churning ever slow, My impotent moan is growing tall. Yet, lights and sound are deeply vibrant In the clear mist of London air;
Sludging down in lead filled boots, There's nothing left inside but meat. I thrashed myself to crumbled bits Of dirty wants, dead nimble dreams.
Wish of the Morning
I wish of the Morning and dream of its light... I imagine my spring flesh would be made of clean lines And the moist of the air would wash my sinful eyes In silvery tears spiraling down from the skies.
Remind your lady of the beats That your heart so sweetly skips When the sky with colour sings Of the shrouded love she brings.
Little man with thorny heart - part 1
Throes in veins of neck and arms Throw the head in dreadful sweeps, Yet the legs still steady push Ignoring crazed and screaming weeps.
Comments about Seer Garth
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
Blood is churning ever slow,
My impotent moan is growing tall.
Yet, lights and sound are deeply vibrant
In the clear mist of London air;
I would say I'm blessed with life
If not the heavy ball of mud inside
That grew from spores of this dirty light.
Insane, death is weaved throughout.
Must I fade inside and out?