“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Tuesday, August 16, 2016
N.E.W.
Because nobody else was thinking of this now-
Nobody Else Was reading those-
Nobody Else Was paying attention-
Nobody Else Was saving anybody else-
Nobody Else Was trying to be more-
Nobody Else Was looking up anyway-
Nobody Else Was wondering anymore-
Because nobody ever was saying
This.
Image By Everglades NPS from Homestead, Florida, United States [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Justice
It is only with calloused hands that the heavy body can claw and leverage the self upward on the thorny vine of a life without wince and whi...
-
Natures touch is both gentle and fierce. Homo sapiens trample on her back. The thick skin impossible to pierce. So...
-
Family members, Party members, Americans and American'ts: There will be no favors! Some were lovable, some detestable at b...
-
Water Today, warm raindrops glass blurs, the blurry glassy, sharp sparkles sugar. Behind Evening, it was good. Leaves all turned into shadow...

No comments:
Post a Comment