Reading Bunk's journal

About time I threw in some poetry here. It's presently nameless.

Shudder on a sudden night
the wind is cold and quiet
wandering somewhere in dim light
where always seems to slip your mind

speed begins to take its hold
but never change how far you go
then the whisper heard inside
alive as quick as it has died

turn around a small mistake
for your ignorance’s sake
the air is empty to disguise
still flashing nothing to your eyes

before your mind is saved by flood
of those with living flesh and blood
the bringer of your silent fear
who speaks through you, the seer

But I can't find no place or nothin', where thrills are cheap, and love is divine