My life is a mosaic. Spray painted on barns scratched into chairs and etched into Aspen tree’s It is painted in the back drop of Midwest cities and contrasted by Rocky Mountains like polished ivory on a crisp December day It’s viewable only from space. On earth I’m only a fuzzy outline of … Continue reading Old Poem: My life is a mosiac
Fear can hold you prisoner And Hope can set you free So pray for me As I runway Following whispers on the wind sweet syllables in my mind: Runway son runaway Somewhere, there is a space for me; a place for me, to die. Death coming gently, singing softly to my soul: Runaway son runaway … Continue reading Death Coming Gently
I. "Love affair with a counter-culture facade" I’ve felt the world die And I’ve seen the world resurrected Reborn and rehashed dumb, vibrant and laughing Unaware of its insecurity And insecure of its awareness I’ve felt angel-headed hipsters Breathe fire into my words And felt betrayed As their children stalked Harlem … Continue reading Shouting to a Blue Eyed Harlem Sky (hopefully the first poem out of three) comments?