A HUNDRED POEMS – WHITE SPACE DETOURS

I ride the path by mouth – a trillion bottles of water —
parched lips: and nothing more! Give me you love; oh
i need that thing so bad.

The pen is dried and tears have taken a road by south.
dusty road of youth and hunger for passion.

Who should feed those vagrant words? They starve at day
and flee by night! And detours, forked by white Spaces
and pregnant pauses give birth as too tiny doubts upon my ink!

Ah baby you’re driving me mad. So give me your love.

I watched the children drown there. Within possibility.

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!

Oh give me your love.

:: 08-23-2014 ::
::tiny revisions::