The world is round
The world is big
The world wears a hat
The world wears a wig

Of shrubbery and green
Twisted trees and streams
A hazey smokey screen
Screaming memories

That fly and dive
In moonlit skies
And strive towards the sun
In squiggly lined lives

Flow and flare
Burn up and dissapear
A wall of ashes
That used to be clear

The world is spinning
The world rolls past
The day after tommorrow
The day after the last

. . . word is written.

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This entry was posted on Friday, January 18th, 2008 at 4:40 pm and is filed under Poems. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.