• Others 25.07.2007

    There’s a longshot at missing anybody’s point;
    Savvy never seems to arrive–with link or joint.

    Inventions demand a place to grow deep roots;
    To march relentlessly overward…in taller boots.

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    There’s a longshot at missing anybody’s point;
    Savvy never seems to arrive–with link or joint.

    Inventions demand a place to grow deep roots;
    To march relentlessly overward…in taller boots.

    The botchit clinic angles a cloudic underscore;
    Eyesight flags a dimly lite hindsight–evermore.

    Not every perception raises the sensible glow;
    The greater delicacy…is when badsense flows.

    Ten times–a second passes the colored wheel;
    No season dare to pretend the sky is really real.

    Bad holds good to ransom…behind tender bars;
    Breaking broken hearts by declaring an evil war.

    From up-to-down, through dark, come the rake;
    Dragging a cruel assessment, for goodness sake.

    Bookends on the shelf…are just simply ignored;
    Minds are closed–for rest…to arrest the bored.

    Horrorific measures are recorded–for a viewing;
    But, don’t stare into history–to savor the doing.

    Prantage over blemish–into eyes negative fools;
    The clinic scrapes for life…without proper tools.

    Dead is a world-of-reality–seems a valid mode;
    The overcast now subdues savvy’s lighter load.

    The next phase…is a wonderment into sunrises;
    Every setting leaves behind some truth and lies.

    Savvy is a mountain, that the world must climb,
    To levy the results, for a clinic to leave in time.
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    Posted by Lee Mahana @ 5:53 PM

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