A Morrison Dream

A moment pass
a fragrance of yellow flowers…
A french door to no where
But Doors to everywhere.

Oh where oh where can he be
soaking up life on Rue Beautreillis…
A pint, a quart, a gallon or two,
rotting the innards of people like you.

Die, die, die you fool.
Chase a dragon in the pool.
Your bitch is nothing but a tool
and you are but a London Fog fool.
Your stage is nothing but drool.

Life should end at twenty seven,
a man should float twixt hell and heaven.
But nere a man, a childish soul….
fights to live and dies a fool….

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© 2014 John Allen Richter
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About johnallenrichter

I am an aspiring Poet and adorer of life, a conqueror of nothing. However I am a champion curator of truth and friendship and hold both of those things most dearly to my heart. Welcome to my mind's eye. I hope you will enjoy what you may find and please know that you have a friend here. View all posts by johnallenrichter

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