Rodomontade

Tyrone Graham
Jul 25, 2017 · 1 min read

The standard
awaits the lifting
dawn breeze, the touch
of light fingers
to flaunt its colors brazen
— Sentries
nod and stamp
in the cold, wishing
for a smoke
— darker
it must grow
ere night
runs its course, and
it grows light.

Other Voices

A sanctuary for orphaned poems and prose.

Tyrone Graham

Written by

In the beginning was the word. And I got paid for it.

Other Voices

A sanctuary for orphaned poems and prose.

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