Poem -

Not done yet

Not done yet

in this book there were unturned pages

while we all had a turn as they made their stabsΒ 

and old seems to be already gone to dustΒ 
and they now creep between words written in red

flickering tongues and dialated eyes ...pupils of insanityΒ 

yet the pages remains ....still..

no one thought of what next or how is the distance to fold

yetΒ only the gambler knewΒ 
as he watches with a grin in silenceΒ 
and it played on and on

Β 

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