Franjis poetry colection

journeys end
The journey both as long and full of sorrow

amongst the steam and it's boiling essence.

but no longer, in the rainy clouds at morrow.

As memories of woe is claimed by evanescence.

For end in sight, however much improper.

My hatred moving me, a stale robotic trance.

Now here we stand in midst of moving cogs of copper.

Two men alone, around we went like in a dance

A metallic contraption quite astounding,

pointing with the most vicious exhaust.

thought the man, as his pistol aloud was sounding.

Unjust repayment, for people stolen instead of lost.

A ticking box
Like claws on glass it's clicking, or chicken beak on shell it picking.

Moving round like a marry carousel, or a mechanic ballerina that excel.

Raspy copper parts upon it's cover. Smooth in touch as a experienced lover.

Filled to the brim with boiling steam, or is it white and puffy custard cream.

it's outer shape is like a toy box, yes, the whole ting, is quite a little paradox.