The Glorious Bard
by Taj R Coleman
Sunday, September 01, 2002
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Clever and wit, broken down bits of our mirrored souls.
Without a whisper or a song.
The apathy goes tick, tack, and tong.
Special like a powder, when all alone.
Spread out on the counter.
Busted and broken.
Sleepless and spoken.
Alone on my floor.
Crawled out my windowsill and broke my own rule.
Confused with the conflicts of other friends fools.
Wallpaper is twisted all polluted and Black.
Lifted and lifeless consumed by my very own trap.
Alone, I whispered alone as I sat.