THE OUTSKIRTS OF VESTIGE

When all of the tangents, have burst all that was rampant

A tranquility sweeps over, like a listless yawn

Are all but mere moments, of memoirs of camping

Simply giving credence, to why we were born.

 

Or are they just the scratchings, of something that mattered

Decidedly adamant, about leaving a message

Portraying in time, what could not be battered

Destined always to live, on the outskirts of Vestige.

~Paul Thomas~