Little King of Sorrows
Time is the shifter.
I too a young drifter.
Beginnings and ends.
Tuning corners and bends.
Walls painted over.
A Victor dawns clover.
A spec or a racer?
Or Stop. Watch. Embracer.
The blur of a coupe,
Threw my head for a loop.
drifts and then parts.
Track laced with scars,
And tread marks of hearts.
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Comments about this poem (Racing Hearts by Little King of Sorrows )
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