this darkened prison as I kneel
always driven, always in prayer,
frozen here, waiting for the * row.
Angelic forms wrought in panes of glass
loom as dust dances in the air,
forming an image in my mind,
searing my secret outstretched arms.
Blood on humanity's face.
I raise my head, now formatting
my poem to an annoying width
this callous mortality and more *'s
By Captain Random Poetry Generator
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Comments (2)
Cynical observer
said:
 |
At least the adverbs have gone. Who gives a f**king sideways r**t about the asterix swarms anyway? |
Hate Pustule
said:
|
Strange, pink, hopping animals invest in new plant and equipment as atrophied or rudimentary vestiges of dried baby bonus worship absolute darkness. Always picking through our existing knowledge, always confused by the terror that will greet betrayal and deception, yearning for simplicity, waiting for the Howard plague of Death... |
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