Widows Peaks - Gord - Aspoet
Avatar

Gord

2018-01-23 10:53 am
He dreams of winter,
tireless, listless,
Forming fists, linger,
Five fingers for taking,
Making and mocking,
Flying at the equinox;
Checks to greet,
A future cost.

Apart from his words,
He talks opposite,
Of walks in the park,
And poor pessimism.
Perhaps one day,
Forgotten is passion,
Castles of young love,
Tall as his bastion.
He tells you of virtues,
Rarely living attache,
Stacking stones,
Flashing cards flourished,
Floor patterned, 
Checkerboard,
Poorly planned,
Colored randomly.

0

0