Insomnia Blurb
There are no tales
Just stories
All in a whirl
With only a few snippets
Never in full length
Memory can hold
Simply because
These are stories
Captured while in topsy-turvy turns
And half-awake winks
While the room
Shifts its wash
From dark to light
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 |
| Insomnia Blurb | 0 | 08/12/2009 |
| Nightmares | 0 | 08/12/2009 |
| For Toil | 0 | 08/12/2009 |
| Wild Winds | 0 | 08/12/2009 |
| Baclaran's Call | 0 | 08/12/2009 |
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