To him of Truth
Inures wealth of heart.
Wisdom grows its roots
in the sands of time.
I am a free man
given to adventure
when and if I find it,
I pray my passions run amok.
at the core, the common characteristic among us of such disparate views, diverse cultures, and multitude of experiences, is our genius and the universal uniqueness of it.
bare a boy
I ran out of youth
yea, it was then
the running Began
I am bound to eternal restlessness,
Born to shiver in the warmth,
To perspire in the chill.
I stay a child of Saturday for having no more ambition than that.
I wander down roads less traveled for the mysteries are greater there.
Struggling to know one thought profound, never writ nor spoken.
Should I encounter thee, I offer my hand, my smile; lest I remain a stranger forever wonder what passion lies unearthed in thy soul.
I have come from where there are few neighbors to where they are aplenty and I yearn return to where I was before I got back here.
Each one with whom you travel owns a microcosm of your life and though she goes her separate way, your story’s there within her.
Hi, Rob Kistner here. This is a piece well written, engaging – good work… mine is here: http://www.image-verse.com/clown
a bit of a mystery here…I am with the others – smoking?
The poem “works”, the rhythm happens in an unexpected way. There is a link for smokers between the act and writing. It gets tied up together, the way getting high and getting drunk (see Dylan Thomas) does for others. I live with a man who smoked since his teens. The therapy for lung cancer is hell on earth. I urge you to quit…now!
Thank you for your health concerns.
I don’t smoke.
Loved the tongue twister in this! Fun! Tapping the keyboard to your rhythm.
Rhythm of a smoker? I enjoy the read, it has its rhythm from beginning and straight to the point.
Very cool!
OK – for me a bit of a teaser since I tried to determine if you were writing about the pleasure of “smoking”. Am I right? If so, you nailed it!