A striking momentum

The moments crawl beneath the floors

where blood was spilled among the pours,

the flow would call in striking cries

at the blade that cuts the ties of stride.

 

Tails are sold for each gaze of eyes

one seldom to see the pouring

waters flowing from all directions

at the depth of a minds deep unknowing,

recollection is standing knee deep in the well

where the blinded are only lurking

gentle sounds of whispering trickles

madness within where sanity is working.

 

And it would seem again we are here to stay

where the music is loud as they stomp the parade

down the alley streets with the dogs at their bay

and the pipes on their puffing under the moons gentle sway,

‘why’ we ask over and over again fluid from day to day

washing up upon the shores with nowhere left,

and something to say.

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