23 June 2012
He stands atop and shades a brow, wondering when the able will be sent
A puzzling look, he greets the world, the saddleback rides- King and earl.
A plastic hoof, sends them to fall; A bitter quest could not be forestalled.
Indigo saffron, hell picked and thyme, fritters the candle wick, Constantyne.
Albeit much, a gentle purr, heard from the mouth of a gentle stare, who is the figure, I see but once. I try to repair the mixture of songs.
Many had found, the way to go, a simple stare will harrow the road. But I have a horse, with a plastic hoof, which troubles the man, who cannot move.
Time sifts through me, it bears no arms, as I sit and stare at a million charms.
They move so gallantly, they show no quarrel. I see they are able, to be who they want.
Old friend, your time has passed, we sit together, living our last.
The owl sings, only a motley tune, to be aware of his presence, to be with him soon.
I Just Woke Up, And Literally Began To Hear A Voice Reciting A Poem In My Head, So I Wrote It Down. This Has Never Happened To Me Before, Nor Have I Ever Wrote A Poem. It Was A Rather Odd Experience. Anyway, Here It Is. • Opuss № I