a poet
among the trays of time
he finds himself alone
with dark skies circling him
he picks up his pen
and writes
deep thoughts control him
with the wind keeping him alive
and the touch of her
still remains to be his sanity
as he continues to write
the torture of his failure
haunts his soul
cutting deep into his veins
where he holds his love
still writing
sometimes there is not
a reason for everything
because he still has yet to know
why he writes
why he loves her
and a poet he remains.
- Lynn
Joe blogged on 8:21 PM
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