triptandfell

My poem titled, " vast is the color of poison" who in son I cast thyself, away from angelic mothers stand because what I want is not from you, or Devine interventions hand, all can die in this world, and, if God created good intention then he'll was a twinkle in eye, then why in this world do I still die, tell me when, when should I see myself to theif, to lend, to barrow from he who worshis his own mind, and then with question over they laugh their voice, take my thoughts, take my touch, take my younger that speaks, the ideas that creep, take them all, for they are no longer mine, with what I've seen, and the things I have done, what was ignorance, is now just numb