Huge Clocks

A huge gun fires its load of lead
Internationally, yet on this nation
It has pitfalls to burn and rub.
One clock is a place for change,
The huge gun manages its stare,
The time slims down with forces.

I want to find a mathematical treatise
Binding the truth with spacious items,
It needs a place called seawater or such.
The ocean can be on fire with itself,
Boiling fluids smother us within,
Liking the huge pistols and rifles of late.

A huger big man has importance of steering,
He has walls of the huge diet,
He combines me with himself.
I like to feed the ocean with the ocean,
Has it got walls to be bored with?
Has it been an ocean or a sea?
Friday, January 31, 2014

Delivering Poems Around The World

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2/25/2021 4:03:48 AM #