The Vagabond Dog Poem by 3mvi 3mvi

Scrambling for as little as little
Scratching on the remains of a bettle,
Corpses of living meat,
Forces of bearing wit,
Witness of dwindling faith,
Flame of airless space till date,
Downfall of the weak
Into a realm to vile to think
...To think of a word to summon
A word to grasp and not abandon
Can not think, of a single thing,
Of a wholesome word to drink,
But instead take dry rain-drops upon it's tongue,
Dry rain-drops, buttressed by it's own made song.

Lost is the day of warmth,
Veiled by the freezing north,

The vagabond on the street
The forgotten dog with broken feet! ! !