The Weary Door.

I respite in favor of viewing,

The tendrils of emotions spewing

Spouts pouring the vibrancy of human,

Extracting in an essence the wan

Concentrated into a timeline drawn,

Executed, and in a second gone

Except in my weary cracks,

Telling someone

More than I can,

Under the brightest sun

The history of man.


Categories: WritingTags: , , , , , , , ,

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