It goes from grip
in drops and dripsas you sips
the life to your lipsit gives you slipsand here you standas lostlife has no hostboast you maynight and daythe ticking of timesreduces bones to dustall desires and the lustgushing windscarry all afarand scatter aroundin specks on the crustthe hovering soulkeeps on hoveringtill every thing goes astraythe palacesprideand plunderThey find no mention
in the books of historyLife still is a mystery.
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Life Still is a Mystery
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