Saturday, January 23, 2016
The window flies towards you, it is light
Travelling so like a visitor that brothers you.
The doors and ceiling are a repositioning,
Their smile and turning are for your redress.
The rivers are now overflowing due to making,
The internal factors are slim, the external work
Is grim, as far as the horizon, walking like crooks
In the night, feeding in the dozens of rivers.
My house is supreme and perfect, my throne is
Awaiting my address, as to sit on its metal
Embarrasses my sister of the leadership.
The foolish questions are being forgotten
In this world of care and dread.
Topic(s) of this poem: anarchy