For a poetry sign
consider words that had gone
for a riverside stroll, sin far

from their minds, at least this time,
but still fell into traps legal
document forgers cunningly

prepared and see how fast
warm tears bleeding sorrow,
sympathy, for them well and resign

to gravity licking slimy chops
while killing time in its cavernous
grave. But such a yearn need not creep

to such lengths distant, remote;
a simple exercise that entails
a dusty shelf ought to do the trick.


About Timmy the Scribbler

Love to write all kinds of stuff I love writing so many different kinds of stuff it is a constant struggle to narrow the focus to a manageable handful and let the others go. But a few years ago I dipped my fingers into a poetry pie and of all my uncertainties, one thing that is no uncertainty is that it is one passion that must remain, so maybe that's the one. I do dearly delight in chopping up fictional works into stanzas and syllables.
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