In The Mist
The whispering wind blows
eternal through the sky
of the the moon, stars and the sun
Time is ticking off
as my brain sends vast electrical signals
awaking my senses that have drifted
to the other world and back
Letting go of who had actually been my true love
Poetry is either something that lives like fire inside you or else it is nothing, an empty formalized bore around which pedants can endlessly drone their notes and explanations.
Unknown Source
| Title | Comments | Submitted |
|---|---|---|
| Title | Comments | Submitted |
| Am I blocked from chatting? | 0 | 09/21/2009 |
| In The Mist | 0 | 09/04/2009 |
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