Iliterate Poet

A dumping ground for my works in progress.

28 May 2011


Box shaped hearts and bloody roses.
Fast lane, life's marching onto death;
With coffins richly lined in silk and satin.
Manicured iron claws clasping;
At a World that forgot its tears;
Killing love, heightening fears.
Many machines marred by a machine;
Wheels grinding in shallow souls;
Sights set on selfish dreams.
And all will waste and decay.


Brilliant poem, Gwylym! This is so true and is the reason why I have decided to walk the scenic route of life, the longer, slower route, because it is the journey that matters, not the destination. Quirina

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