Writing

Things written long ago and maybe more to come.

NOW WHAT

Childish ambitions of youth,

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CLOSED

All I can hear is the music.

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SOFTER STILL

my thoughts abound to my mind of the past

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GENUINE

Is my mind’s t.v. on the right channel?

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PLEASE

I walk around in circles.

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IT'S MISSING

An explosion within that I must contain.

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HIS BREATH

I've seen inside the factory of few and far between,

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MAILBOX TO JESUS

I make my pleas, you hear my cry,

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NOTHING

My fingers grip my hair

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I VOW

But, I can not say till death do us part

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