Everyone walking
Round and round, round in circles
Quite quickly as well.
A woman looks on
Ice melts out of her eyeballs
She can’t believe it
Salamander’s work.
Matters only to those sorts
Reptiles adjust quiet
A mongoose of hope
A tree not from tomorrow
Nothing free from sand
Young and not south bound
Nobody waits til noon yet
Portions cut from glee
The emotion, joy,
Is used by leeches to feed
On a starving babe
Dead zealots feed you
Provisions of trust, honour,
Nobility, sex.
I don’t know whether you are serious about your poetry, or, not, but, this one is quite good, and shows you might want to explore that side of your art more…
gigoid
Well I don’t read any, except for on here… thanks very much gigoid 😀 will do