Why the hurry?
Winter lurking in fear,
sobriety hollering
like a fool in love.
All one can ask or be
is peace or more.
Spring was a shout,
a plea, a dream or now,
an iridescent smile.
One man's intention
is another man's voice.
It is all about being, no less.
Veracity is an opinion,
an attempt to gain
control lost.
History is memory,
a biased letter,
peeling at dawn.
Poetry by Bob
Read 442 times
Written on 2011-04-14 at 23:13
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 by Bob Latest textsI seldom walkthere’s a rumor there will be no full stop so many regrets who am I |
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