Coincidence
Said the word man to his muse
Humanoid abuse
Terminal bad fuse
He thirsts for something more
New unopened door
Spiritual rapport
Subcutaneous fissures
Run deeply through his soul
Borne from sacred rock and roll
A gift to you
His words
The wisdom he has gained
Thundering pain
Short circuit brain
So delicate
Yet he doesn’t give a shit
No need to analyze it
Quiet retrospect
Lark of adolescence
Dance through blacked out segments
Purged evil regiments
Cache of patience
Fleeting
His glass
Always half full
Yet he only tastes the bile
Melancholy smile
Errantly painted
Vacant for awhile
© Bill Grimes Jr. 2012
