Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

Death makes fools of us all
interminable time trounces trite truces
we try to rhyme, alliterate and scheme our way
out of it with
nary a hangman's rope of breath,

there is a vagrant under the streetlamp
looking for a lost key in a minor discord,
and we are satisfied
with his answer when we don't wonder why
he left the key elsewhere--

but,
(that's a connecting word)
in our heart of hearts, he knows we
have nothing to lock,
and
(that's a disconnecting word)
nothing to hold back.



~A

V.good poem & theme, Anna.