The Valley Every Man Wants
Trumpets blow so hard
They shatter the drums
In my head. God
Damn those bloody
Sounds that scream
And moan like secrets
Worth not repeating.
And the horses run
Down that worn out path,
But still they can’t find any
Water. It’s all dried
Up in the valley of
Roses and thorns, thanks
To this golf ball tumor.
poem by Lyndee Michelle
Added by Poetry Lover
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