Lyd writes 06 Apr 2007 03:33 pm
Poetic problem
The rush of thoughts
Hits with the force of expectation.
Quick, a pen.
The words of greats engulf me,
And I can find no great words.
The brick walls are liberating,
So is the cold, heavy air.
The street is quiet
With anticipation of my footsteps.
I shall wake it.
on 09 Apr 2007 at 7:11 am 1.Mom said …
Your poetry is never a problem for me to read. I love your words.