when they come
with hands of dirt
from solemn sleep
so, they come
one-by-one too
they come, for all
forgotten dreams
the never-bee’s
humming buzzing
with hands of dirt
from solemn wept
a life that never lived
:: 02-05-2015 ::
February 7, 2015
WHEN THEY COME
About EPRobles
You must be logged in to post a comment.
Recent Comments
EPRobles on OWL MILK AND INDIGO SMOKE Adam Fisher on OWL MILK AND INDIGO SMOKE EPRobles on ECSTASIES OF THE REPULSIV… R. Marshall on ECSTASIES OF THE REPULSIV… Stefan on ECSTASIES OF THE REPULSIV…
E.P. Robles | Poetry 