Wednesday, December 4, 2013
War On The World
I like the war on the world,
I love all of the prisons praised,
An H-bomb erupts like a volcanic act,
The bacillus will die, in front of the balustrade
Actually in war of sight.
Beechwood is the single and double,
Cavernous tracts fill the anxious calls,
While astronomy governs a balloon of weight
So far in agitation.
My pancreas practices in full disorder,
And what feeling resides in the heavens?
To pounce on me, a child waits
On his cushion with precision.
It is practical powder of a day in derision,
Precious salutary measures are bespoken,
Full arguments are brought to a close.
I like the war of words in this world of prayers,
I love the beechwood and the pinewood of this day,
Finding pity in the arts and sciences,
With ever-growing fondness for the exist-ors
And the living who shall never die.