Target.
Sweet,
Unfortunate.
Arrows fire
Your name.
Frazzled in
The gust
That howls
Its aim.
Rotten love
Scoured,
In its
Ripened flame.
Target.
Sweet,
Unfortunate.
Arrows fire
Your name.
Frazzled in
The gust
That howls
Its aim.
Rotten love
Scoured,
In its
Ripened flame.
yes
I don’t get it
Pinkjumpers
as is the trial of poetry.
yes
you sound great and that’s good for poetry 🙂
Andy
^^ I remember a quote by Jim Morrison, that went something like ‘Real poetry doesn’t really say anything, it just ticks off the possibilities.’ I think, then, that sometimes my poetry isn’t real poetry. But one man’s meat, and all that. And I like this one, Anna.
lol
hahahahaha
tangerinedream12
fantastic back cover goes with yr poem
melissarw1989
❤