the sound of or

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    the sound of or

     living life while death caresses the door,
     to awake finding the child on the floor,
    wondering asking why or what for,
    not at all knowing who's card holds the score,
    bending light for time only wanting more,
     minds eye the last frontier to explore,
    greener pastures lie waiting in front of phony stores,
     letting go the only answer that I still ignore.
                   wait there's more.....

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    dherrington commented on the sound of or

    07-12-2009

    awesome...skillfully written...keep up the good work
    Reply to Comment

    strangefellow

    07/12/2009

    again thank you kindly

    Poetry is either something that lives like fire inside you or else it is nothing, an empty formalized bore around which pedants can endlessly drone their notes and explanations.

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