She once whispered to me Of things which truly matter Only once will I say this She told me It is then up to you
Tag: Poetry & Prose
Of Prophets and Rivers
I sat with an old man on a weathered bench near the bank of a section of river most don’t come to anymore. He welcomed
Her Majesty
She sat on her pedestal Indifferent to the throne I made for her So self absorbed My self absorbed Dogmatic and blind There is no
Your Dance
How long will you sit back Watching a slow dance Wishing It was you out there Always waiting For the next song ‘Cause maybe, just
Almost, Again
I watch the blood run down my hand Drip from my fingertips, splash on the floor All I can do is think to myself How
Give Way
It’s strange sometimes The distance, space Around us How it gives way As we all move In different directions Here and there Back and forth
