Thus I'm Rolling Over Letters Closed Because...

Woe;  horizons all in all will you 

Find it hard questions,  I don't mind it 

Quickly these faded 

The years are rakes,  shovels

The most part partakes worlds

Reaches over,  whirlwinds exchanges it

What is much better because ...

The flow understands

To those rags worn more worser now

Of explainations,  reasons

Leaves theirs untethered

Holds this how it was glowing leaves turning

Suddenly all in all on points at this

Bends between us in just here or there 

In strange beginnings let it begin

Readjusted to..  upon

Room,  Room,  Zoom,  Zoom

The most part partakes worlds

At sudden lightning hidden from all Fall

Farewell to an old boom town bust

Returns over all things considered too far

Blocks it out,  be it will,  reads

Thinks it stands,  was it still available of tears

A song unrolls,  told me softly 

Looking through dreams 

Sawing in the dark woods 

Soundly dazed,  while amazed 

Totally under what purpose

Long thrown off,  half,  if not all 

The swings outlast as-like 

Then theirs contrast faded away

Wasn't it yesterdays linked to space

Ain't them all signed,  love

To have been wants to fly  

What must be stumbling

Differently found by

How I feel my room in the dark

Once;  disposition

At the same time,  places,  looks

So I ain't yet times through

At the moment day by day my choices 

Sawing in the dark woods 

Soundly without patches on  

And it must part from the first speech at this

Of a-hope off course 

To the last pieces

We've not done well yet

High notes are nimble until

Ohh,  that would seem so,  no less so

Ohh,  each,  so beautiful 

Opens wide,  abouts nothing sung 

Returns to hide inside wants

I'm getting it done someway

What is much better because... 

Bye-bye been nice for then it's just

Discontentment now they all went

Under yonder head board

Always draws faces 

at the same times,  places,  looks

Things are by doing as writing 

Be to pictures scattered finding 

Mountains in the parking lot

Here's a-tender light of night

Hold your own in the grass

Shakespeare & Company

Radio stations of the past

Broadcast only at night

The mornings before were

Between us in just here or there,  

But, wasn't it so

Sensing it so,  and,  sometimes

That's not a lot of games 

That's not a lot of books

Another phone in view

Whence what-ever excels forwards

The painter's name 

Builds upon these tires in my hands

Blotting out more worlds

To have an inkling there-in is 

A darkness it's already made

Ohh,  go,  Sweetheart 

A passionate thread

There has to be another way

Once;  disposition

Each thing was apart of art

Is this cover over me

Isn't that my record of it

Shall we that moment

Shall we be now  

Put it on,  thus; Shared

I'm rolling over letters closed because...

© 2020 Sir Robert Robbie Lord Dudley

My Review

Would you like to review this Poem? Login | Register