PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

You are all I seek

In the crowded hall

All I notice in the crowded room

Oh, the springs were free

The springs were fare

The brooks all babbled

And prairies pranced

All flowers giggled free

To forget his time-old age

Oh, how smooth the apple fits into our palms

As we chucked them down the hill

And the golfers swung their sways

But minutes are now hours

Months but wintered years

Time will torture, time will tether

Time will paint a fresh rug-burn

On my bare fingertips...

Of my empty, empty hands

Oh, how I've lost you...my greatest love...

The minutes slown to hours

Rusting to a hault to welcome death

Treatured time is toiled tide

Bearded time and tired tide

Life is but a slow decay

For every turpentine kiss is every shy-away way

And drawn ot whiten the teeth

Of the picket fense

Oh, soon my love

All shall be well...I feel...