Hourly Slush Must
poetic scribble by Bob Axell 2009

 

Where do they go, the hours
The haunt me so, devour
My heart and soul with power
That flows like ozone, the hour

Is late and my time is rising
Supressive and almost surprising
Regressive regreting my goal
I'd rather just take back control

Over all that is mine and that should be
And all that is something else
Everything I would like to claim
For my own name and self

But it isn't the truth to lurch for
It's not the use I have been in search for
The one door those with clarity
Can open within their mind

It really isn't that hard to find
If you know where to look
You would just need to find one page
If it was formed as a book

But when the words have no fair course
It seems that even with all my force
The truth evades me without remorse
And that is the story for me