Poem Of Un-Reality
Ripe and eversoft as angel wings,
by anonymous writer
and the joy of juvenile, devilish things.
Mindful yet over bound for humiliation,
without any thought of gory mutilation.
Dewlight morning sparks sure light
while daybreak noon emits rays of night.
Liquid serum soaks the skins and
spills the blood within the kins.
So softer than the heaven's gates
of soon love dawns of Shirley waites.
Made no mention of Adam's my late
for she lit the fire on her mate.
No sense I make of that love I call
and yet more sense of legal sprawl.
I laugh at those who take me serious
I find this poem quite hilarious.