A Hundred Poems – C (White Space Detours)

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 Spaces 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!

:: 1979 ::

About EPRobles

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... View all posts by EPRobles

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