It wasn't time that stuck still but myself
No tea, no nothing but the weather.
You take a different shape in hell,
A finer fire than you see in a preacher.
With silence there's so much to tell,
Hear the most discreet noises stick to you.
Nothing left back to dwell,.
Nothing but what your eyes find true.
The Truth
Az Mo
(C) All Rights Reserved. Poem Submitted on 07/19/2019
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Poem topics: fire, silence, time, weather, hear, true, shape, I love you, I miss you, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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