- - - - Caught Up in the Moment - - - -
wounded hawk, in her frailties will miss,
the target so known musing but just a kiss.
she keeps her head high, but the death is too strong.
in her head she was counting every second too long.
she gasps with a sigh, "yes, soon i'll be well".
but the morning thus finds her, rudely thrust into hell.
with an eye she sheds moisture, what else could i do?
now the vultures do gather, to split up her brew.
perhaps if i sang to some god up above?
but the verdict encountered not even a shove.
it can't be too late! she flitters and frowns.
how could it be so, deep under the ground.
ha ha, ha ha ha. I laugh at their scorn.
only friend now the filth, that has ravaged and torn.
the dull pounding has sharpened, the pulse has grown nigh.
the cough will not ebb, like a desert when dry.
now thrown from heaven, just one thing to do.
she'll wish on her grave, that she could have known you.
but alas now a prisoner, she'll learn to forget.
all the pain and the sorrow, all the mortal regret.
and if on one day, in the darkness and doom.
she finds in her tart, the spenders that loom.
it will dawn such the sparkle anterior event.
and that's when thought uplifting, she'll seize whom was sent.
(C) 2017 das landstuhler
the target so known musing but just a kiss.
she keeps her head high, but the death is too strong.
in her head she was counting every second too long.
she gasps with a sigh, "yes, soon i'll be well".
but the morning thus finds her, rudely thrust into hell.
with an eye she sheds moisture, what else could i do?
now the vultures do gather, to split up her brew.
perhaps if i sang to some god up above?
but the verdict encountered not even a shove.
it can't be too late! she flitters and frowns.
how could it be so, deep under the ground.
ha ha, ha ha ha. I laugh at their scorn.
only friend now the filth, that has ravaged and torn.
the dull pounding has sharpened, the pulse has grown nigh.
the cough will not ebb, like a desert when dry.
now thrown from heaven, just one thing to do.
she'll wish on her grave, that she could have known you.
but alas now a prisoner, she'll learn to forget.
all the pain and the sorrow, all the mortal regret.
and if on one day, in the darkness and doom.
she finds in her tart, the spenders that loom.
it will dawn such the sparkle anterior event.
and that's when thought uplifting, she'll seize whom was sent.
(C) 2017 das landstuhler
- - - - dusting dead - - - foiaartstudios - - -
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