Litkicks Message Board Archive

I will

Posted to Action Poetry

never die in the fields of what was
or the light between nevermind
my place is among the escaping light
that fed the shadow
of the nevermore
how did it come to this
the burning morning
of because
leaving dust in bleeding shadow
rust in mooring sun
was there ever any good
outside the passion of the misunderstood
the dogs of blackness
gather their dust
a ring of willow
stands amoung the dead
and each man walks
past the door
the lonely heart
of nevermore.