Lunchtime Poetry
Wash it all away. Into the quiet … Hush. I stand before my God. What else was I seeking?
Wash it all away. Into the quiet … Hush. I stand before my God. What else was I seeking?
A train passes, cries. Sobbing new life throbs within once quiet hills.
Geese tread icy waters. They don’t shiver, But I think they’re cold. Their little brains cannot plumb Man’s artifice. But neither can Man. &nb...
Rain falls. Even these words are wet and soaking. A fog rises and obsures the past. The crust of past experience. But sometimes I remember how it used to be.