Forks on the plates as the night disassembles, Moets of flakes of the right resemblance. Flights and buses enroute you find, A hotel it’s called like a den you reside. Waiting at the tables, Lifting an un-abled, Washing the cradles, Beds and the basins. Find it to stall, To work the night and all To start a day fresh, Travel ahead or jest, About the morning tea, With loved ones, Or just me, I can lift your tired spirits, I am a hotel so bear with it. A hollow room, Filled with sorrow Or funny fumes. The gloomy, Ways and Dusty mic Cafeteria, Or lovely Rights. A 702 Room Of sunny Shoot. #life #YQbaba #hotel #weaponpoem #structuredpoem #shapeasagun #gun #abstract #poem
