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Nov 04, 2008
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The Boatman
Mists of you haunt the fevered mind of every man
Slow ripples crest not at the shore
Yet disappear into the depths of peccadillo
Phantoms play hungry games upon this vessel
Noble, you float this disastrous tide
Howls of anticipating pasts plague your journey
At the command of your scepter souls wilt and
Legions of onyx liquid flows dead calm........
Slow ripples crest not at the shore
Yet disappear into the depths of peccadillo
Phantoms play hungry games upon this vessel
Noble, you float this disastrous tide
Howls of anticipating pasts plague your journey
At the command of your scepter souls wilt and
Legions of onyx liquid flows dead calm........
— theladyblue, Nov 04, 2008
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Critiques
Barbara Writes
17 years 7 months ago
nice poem
theladyblue
17 years 6 months ago
Hi!