I wander in the oppressive heat
in the striking down of an old world's concerns
and I know whether one wins and faces defeat
neither side of the fence will ever learn...
one only hears echoes
when one listens outside the box
I wander where the flow of our folly goes
at the Gates of Heaven picking at the locks...
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
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