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Tuesday, April 1, 2008

Wounds do talk

Asylum of toil i am trapped
sadness' blanket i am wrapped
deliberate delay of sleep
the poor man's coffee i sip

Radio hiss a static song
makes sound sleep but not for long
Tendered backs from soggy foams
and i again deprived of home

A sore prize for an unpaid debt
sometimes judged and named of theft
blood is none compared to cash
a small scratch can turn to gash

3 Angelic comments:

Gerald Galindez said...

The poem will talk for itself for you. Of what i have become.

Noah the Great said...

Ooh.

Well, you have become even more well versed. I can tell you that :D.

Gerald Galindez said...

oh !
thank you noah.... ~_^
have a nice day