Digits upon this loathsome wall
The keepers are but numbers
Who place their keys into slots
Temporarily assigned as is their mind
Compact boxes which have no windows
Concealing the other side
Cobwebs run parallel in the room
Which has been forgotten
That resides on the other side
Of the boxes with digits upon them
That now represent utter pious soulful eyes
In existence of that which denies
Small windows within which to peer
Revealing the contents or if it be bare
Yet there is no time to spare
Cobwebs in parallel transfer such feelings
That enter into morbid minds
Of treasures sought that combines
Dreamlike notions of what may be
Laying in wait to silently see
The contorted expressions upon the faces
When invasion occurs of assigned spaces
Segregated emotions for safety reasons
Only remain in changing seasons
Behind the iron box they survive
The only thing left that seems alive
With exception to the spiders who dwell
The keepers of the webs that elude detection
Because there are no digits placed upon them
~Moses~
© 2007 Moses Lestz - All Rights Reserved
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