Here I stand my hands are bound, they are the victors pound for pound, I am just a pawn.
I try to fight this loosing battle, against a horseman's blazing sword, I may never walk again after this battle, this loosing war.
Some day life may bless me yet, after it soaks up my blood and sweat, takes away all; but my regrets, and leave me alone and broken, choking, pissing stones, moaning yes; groaning, groveling, grieving, coughing, sneezing, paralyzed and seeding.
The dark clouds over yonder plains, the blood of those I love yes!!! stains, my body hurts and cramps my brain, and leaves me feeling sorry.
Tomorrow will come leave yesterday, memories of wicked tongues, the spider in the web of youth, wrapping it's web around the young, when will death come?
Here's a poem from the ages, left upon the poets pages, for the decades and the ages, before he exits stage that's write, and steps out of this dismal dark; to take a walk on down deaths dark roads, back into the light of love; or the power that creates, to shine again, like a star, to roll again through another pain, to walk, to walk, to talk and strain, another cramp in a new brain; a new spider weaves it's web and raps the youth in repetition.
In a dream internal things, rap around internal beams, like poison on an oak tree gleams, and rashes up the inner being, leaves the victim fucking screaming, crying, dreaming; only dreaming, wishing, dreaming, fading, fading.........f a d ing, deteriorating.
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