Sprint slowly up the hill,
Whilst you try to teach the expert.
Set fire to the flame,
And attempt to befoul the dirt.
When gravity lets you float,
Be sending down the judge.
Whilst you sell it to the owner,
Dance together with the statues.
These are all now possibilities,
The world is without order.
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Author:
Surucipe (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: August 31st, 2017 09:14
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 26
- Users favorite of this poem: davidharrisonkk
Offline)
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