THE MARCHING BOOTS

MET the Light that beats down my face
   a splice of time & space and twelve elders
 when they came the women fainted and livestock too
— oh .  Whoa.       My faith grew unto a forest
of gentle green to kill their unholy kind : we’ve
been blind: there’s no denying
Oh!  yea!  i’ve been crying.
  — walking all i see the sun
just the sun of ‘in my eyes’
  its sane/as i scream these
razor eyes\ come find me come
find me — ooooooh now.

:: 07.25.2020 ::

About EPRobles

Writer, Artist. I like to paint abstract acrylic images onto canvas. I love to read everything, and I especially enjoy science, philosophy, and the arts. I'm new to the blog experience and I very much enjoy it! I hope to learn as much about all the features that WordPress offers and thank you -- my visitor -- for taking time to read my words. Peace and love... View all posts by EPRobles

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