mostly of me and little of you
pages that glare with flowing script
as I come to terms and get a grip
vigilantes sing lyrics from my heart
ballads of love, unrealized starts
put to music, strummed with pain
where nothings lost or nothing's gained
I bring mine forth with prose and rhyme
five hundred days from another time
I give you the lyrics for yet one more
of windows closed and shutting doors
Poetry by M.J.B. is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License
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