Poetry Fun and Frivolity
Sweet words scrawled on a slip of paper, slipped to me.What kind of sapling sheep am I that I will follow any kindly shepard.
The demons in me are talking too loud.
Remove your hand from my hip so I that I may hear my thoughts.
The Shepard that seeks to lead me is not my god,
Simply heavenly anticipation that seeks to penetrate my depravity.
Forget the lie I told you last night.
Sit close I have another.
posted by Scribbler @ Saturday, August 14, 2004
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