Move Along
The roads had gone
Slewing with the temporal days
Of the kindest streaks
That had given you a place
And the impetus
To mount a leg
Without the other
Is harder at its best
As the place faded
And you try to do the same
Superimposing satisfaction
Into the zilch
Of bleak reinstitution
Of the weak constitutions:
Tongue's of lions,
Empiric barricades,
Gorging of the self.
Good riddance
To the memories
And hi de ho
To the veracity
It was still
The very best
A place
Where everything is requited
And as I stand still
With the far fetched times
I am ailed
By a tight-rope dance
In the silver line.
poem by Norman Santos
Added by Poetry Lover
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