Sunday, 17 August 2014

Another time John thought he was a poet


Unfinished poems
Filled with giant feelings
In words too small
Which don't describe
By half the whole
Weave of emotions
From the innocent soul
Of a child too small.

Kidnapped from his dragon filled world
And thrown to waste
In a dark reality
Paved with shards
Of blood and altered life.
Forever more twisted
And always left unfinished.

Likewise the words, the dreams

And the futile desires...

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