Tuesday, June 22, 2010

Bad poetry day - BP Edition

Childish tiptoes, sand unkempt
Seas enduring, tidal wept
Tween then adult, our brains collide
To compromise, future aside

Rain togs adorned, lest we repent
Thus chilly mud, a future spent
Lacrimose, we hypocrites
Doff visage scorn, to thrones do sit

Our pansies gripe, the most reviled
Lest branch's pose be reconciled
And reclaim doom, lest all pretend
It's only molt around this bend

So bristle hands with chafed contempt
While skimmers skim what swimmers swept
So wring them thus, the hands of scorn
The handkerchiefs of peddled mourn

To quicksand make, our sands of time
The tarpit haste, perhaps divine
It cuts us, but above the quick
Our conscience gleaned unto the nick

And so depraved accomplice lie
The fathers of our alibi
We dream upon their product gain
And so did wind our beaches stain

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