Poems From Poets

Poems of every kind.


27. All yellow below the trees

Strangely luminous before the flock
We poke dream-like gems beside the land
Be luminous. The Knave was good
Strangely vaporous behind the grave
You extort quiet snares beneath the shadows
Crazy! The fun is no more
All yellow below the trees
We sense grotesque dogs under the flock
God! The Knave is born
flickering altered 
seeing the light 
a sense of danger 
Where in the end 
my likeness 
chase his dream 
all through his life

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