August 27, 2014
A HUNDRED POEMS – C WHITE SPACE DETOURS
I ride the path by mouth
and nothing more
The pen is dried and tears
have taken a road by south.
Who should feed my vagrant words
they starve at day and flee by night!
And detours, forked by white S paces
And pregnant pauses give birth
to tiny doubts upon my ink!
I watch the children drown there.
A fountain in the square of town
is where I dip my quill,
and the Crier shouts,
“Oyez, Oyez, Oyez!”
Remember all the good souls!
:: 08-23-2014 ::
Writer, Artist. I like to paint abstract acrylic images onto canvas. I love to read everything, and I especially enjoy science, philosophy, and the arts. I'm new to the blog experience and I very much enjoy it! I hope to learn as much about all the features that WordPress offers and thank you -- my visitor -- for taking time to read my words. Peace and love...
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