I am like a loaded gun,
Firing away with a word,
Explosively having fun
With whoever has heard.
Everyone thinks they're ace,
Some have a very fast pace
To win every time they race
Being then able to show face.
Some are coming sadly last,
Haunted by their fast past,
Making them slow thinking
So they are not winning.
I wish one and all well,
Sometimes you can tell
When someone is swell -
But lots are in hellish hell.
Ring a bell for the last round,
I don't mind spending a pound,
I hope in my words you've found
That I have a nice common ground.
Copyright Andrew Stevenson 07/11/2018
Thank you. Love love, Andrew.
Firing away with a word,
Explosively having fun
With whoever has heard.
Everyone thinks they're ace,
Some have a very fast pace
To win every time they race
Being then able to show face.
Some are coming sadly last,
Haunted by their fast past,
Making them slow thinking
So they are not winning.
I wish one and all well,
Sometimes you can tell
When someone is swell -
But lots are in hellish hell.
Ring a bell for the last round,
I don't mind spending a pound,
I hope in my words you've found
That I have a nice common ground.
Copyright Andrew Stevenson 07/11/2018
Thank you. Love love, Andrew.
I suppose I could say I am in a "Hellish Hell" hopefully it will pass with time. Great poem Andrew.
ReplyDeleteYvonne.
Greetings Yvonne. Thank you for stopping by, your visit is most welcome. Glad you enjoyed the piece. Sorry about your present situation! Tut. God bless you. Love love, Andrew.
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