Life and death pass by the old mess cook. Memories cling as if his blood type is static. Group work. The song of the night calls. The quality of grade slips further. In the North they stop and pass by, now, The epic of a top-secret friendship Is nothing but judgement and risk.
I REALLY enjoy this poem. Your flow is so.... I'm not exactly sure how to say it. To me it feels like its not fluid but somewhere close to it. It feels ominous and almost uneasy. yeah i REALLY enjoy it!! I would love to read more if your willing to post it
Not sure I think you executed this to its full potential as a whole. But i like the concept expressed in: "Memories cling as if his blood type is static." Very interesting. _______________________________________________ Poetry writers Network edited
