Thursday, February 19, 2015
The Bath Of Babies
The bathing rooms with fireworks
Mattered nothing except for the good
In the stars at the night-sky.
Steven grinned continuing to pressure
The hurt for singing and wagons,
A dream of the west that shall believe
In swords and guns of the harder kind.
Some men just cooked him in oil,
Onto the wheels of disintegration.
Distractions must be produced
To author a wedding of the higher kind.
His curiosity was supreme,
The baths were erring now that curious
Little fighters caused babies to utter war
And skirmish of the harder variety.
The hearing of some vanquished others,
Seeing him on this path heard some say
The doors of the windowed mansions.
Topic(s) of this poem: free verse