Space and time,
A fervent tale -
Sticking on these walls
As the rabid pen
Shoots at a pace
The mighty seas crawl,
Hold on to my jacket
I feel a race beneath my feet
As the gravel shudder
Teeth gnashing, there’s blood
A subtle sound croons
I am tamed, doors are shunned
A blown whisper
Is tangled in my hair

And slides down the valleys
Behind my ears, and vulnerable 
Noses capture the majesty
Of our rotting city.
Lips smacking with the hint
Of summers rain…wont
Quite fill our hands or
Gaping mouths full enough
To sustain our quivering
Populace. Nay, the mighty
Seas crawl, grip at my bloodied
Palms to leave imprints on
Familiar ground. All these words
Are made of dying seasons,
Emaciated leaves and looming

by artreture and whoartgos

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