deepundergroundpoetry.com
Three Thousand Two Hundred Five (#)
a mile-stone in the dizzying s
p
i
n
is nothing to us now, but another
pro-jectile
wit -witch to crush the
bone'domes of our finest heads,
[ who care not to look, but who can blame'em?]
there comes a sometime serpentine dignitary
who slithers into the breach
to defile the norm[s].
Milestone or Millstone? Which'll it be?
The weight of the grief [and the wait] may as we kill me now,
as my sins and felonies are so deeply buried that
no archaeology will ever take notice. So much too
late to waive the premium.
The grief, the grief.....never nearly paid in full.
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Published 15th Jul 2019
Author's Note
Piccolo Papa Pooped The Poodle
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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The author encourages honest critique.
Anonymous
- Edited 21st Oct 2019 5:45am
15th Jul 2019 2:45am
<< post removed >>
15th Jul 2019 5:32pm
15th Jul 2019 3:03am
at first i thought the title was after all a "title". i was astonished to see its numbered as the poems you have submitted. i will be reading more of you work as i thoroughly enjoyed this one. cheers!
15th Jul 2019 5:30pm
yes.....very sharp you picked that up, however, it is indeed "the title'' as well.
Thanks.
Thanks.
15th Jul 2019 11:22am
Grief is a difficult payment in life and loss, my friend. I don't think we ever fully move past it, as much as we learn to cope. Some days it feels like yesterday that it just happened all over again - even if it's been decades.
Always in my thoughts and prayers, dear friend.
Always in my thoughts and prayers, dear friend.
15th Jul 2019 5:33pm
15th Jul 2019 10:58pm
