Some words strung together in a possible poetic cantor.

Such treacherous words lay
upon the floor like knives
At a gun fight.
Useless unless you know what you are doing.
False pretense in a world lost to itself chewing deeper into the madness of societies chaos.
I think the God would be ashamed of us. Such lyrical genius and misspent youth climbing the walls of Babylon only to fall to their deaths in a sea of despair.
Woe does this heart break upon the rock of future past far to often.
As if to reclaim some sense of understanding as the memories of my life wash away in the sand of the Parkinsons sea.
Each grain Sand a thought, a wish, a dream lost or forgotten.
Such beautiful eyes does the night sky have and I’m sure here lips are soft as silk.
Goodnight moon and stars above take care of each other for there is nothing without love.

A life in progress

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