I can’t swim.
Too screwy, I float.
I can’t wing.
Too windy, I sink.
I can’t read.
Too cloudy, I blur.
I can’t write.
Too shaky, I stir.
YOU ARE READING
Reflections of the Son 2008: Phantom Reality
PoetryThis is YEAR ONE of my collection of poetry made from ranging moods, styles & motifs; each telling a perspective on life, as I, the author, see it. A piece written every week in the year of 2008; totaling at 60 devious deviations with 1 bonus poem m...
