 Tuesday, July 6th 2004, by Marissa A Spencer
So Little Time
Would there be gentle words like joyous fountains
Words that roll soft and cool
Down shaggy mountains
Into waiting soft caves
Not machete chopping, gouging, wounding slices
Hacking a soul into a bleeding dying dices
There it is said
One note
Before you’re dead
A murder of one’s peace of mind
So little time to be kind
Hack, hack, hack.
It dies.
You die.
We die.
A spiritual death
Sour melodies
Lost in the darkness
Let there be new songs
May we sing them
To each other
© June 2, 2003 (c) July 6 2004 Marissa A Spencer
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