Platitude often get missed when the door to revelry is
Bolted to the sky, when the cave that leads to loudness
Is speared on to the veryness of every every day and
When fear of flying lies dormant in your pocket with
The odd visiting card and a piece of unused tissue paper.
This entry was posted in Poetry.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s