Wednesday, 23 September 2015


Social promises,
Have an expectation.
Of inebriation,
And indiscretion.
Drunken pacts
Taken in crowded
Taverns; No longer
Tax the souls,
In darkened caverns.
But to state
I digress,
Into a mode
Of undress, unknown
And naked; Lying
Like the truth
Between ruthlessness
And compassion.
"Where's the passion?"
You might say.
But for some
The dawning is
An early warning.
In the morning of the day
The early hour
Provides the shock.
And the sense
That no earthly shower
Will ever get you
Out of hock.

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