Wednesday, December 15, 2004

Bad Poetry - Dec 16 - 2

The Tree

Untold perils advancing to their doom

To a place full of gloom

Walk past a tree of solace

To the forever world of ever desolace

On the tree their sits a solitairy fruit

Only one tasting suit

Will know it’s pleasure

Can rub past and squeeze for preassure

-It is a mystery that-

The clouds around hide all in dark shrowd

And so nothing aloud

To grow in the area

But this tree of complete hysteria.

Leafless

And

Raped

Of

All

False

Sense

Of

Sanity

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