Treasure Island

Is It Poetry

(1958 - / Bus-Boys And Poets, Washington D.C.)

Everyone I Am Not


Your past your hour of need why go on some ask.
Your greatest fear you chase, it's why you dream.
Why I ask, are you here?
A student unmasked by the dawn,
a way to the past, future told.
Others have come this you know.
Beating the drum that you hold.
Leaves turn brown once again inside you grow cold.
Knowing the time of your death all alone.
And the cost it will take from your soul.

Submitted: Monday, December 02, 2013

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