Melody Of A Throat Poem by clawdea benat

Strangers on the east
Came from not the least
Stood a lightning thunder,
I sit in under

Whacky, whistler
Story teller
Take care of that thing
No matter how far it blinks

I know they're mysteries
Nope, I don't want to look at the series
A big revelations, ain't it
For a net that catch it

I get the point where it ask
Their remains is same as the past
Even when you close your eyes
Seemingly can't escape like miles from miles

Know that it appears
Human beings make a peers
Kind, rude, whatever
I don't figure the latter, ,