Friday, 11 March 2011

Stream Of Conscience Poetry

Untitled # 1

What I don't learn I don't know
What I don't speak I cant show
& therefore I can only be what I dare to confess
I only consist of things I succeed to express
In a wild world I found heaven was the only Place to call home
I never seen the grave but memories of black Blood and cemeteries seem to linger
In my thoughts.
I tell friends that foes can shoot at my flesh But they'll never
Take to my soul they'll never be renewed when They don't see the things of old
That brings the cold draft up into the hole, Into this abyss called life
Signs and wonders too clear to blunder, I said too clear to blunder
They're going to see before they hear like Thunder.

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