The urge to tell stories,
to tell the story...
Yes, I still hear your voice
echoing in those former alleyways...
We live in a painting of undefinable beauty
A star filled haze without definition. You run to...
What if enemy
is in you telling you who...
A tree cut down is a
a child chopped...
Can't hear your voice, but
Vibrations ripple through me...
I look intensely, desperately at the rushing...
Looking for the key I've dropped...
When the day begins and the kids awake,
The toys at hand, I feel they shake...
My head intertwines
with billowy clouds...
somewhere deep under
there’s a poet in me...
Just when I thought
Under all these smiles are lies...
Joy
happy, content...