Life ticks by and seconds becomes
a marshal of all things lost
And the precious few gains
Tender consciousness taken
by promises shot to hell
A hope of not today then
tomorrow stretches on
And the infinite hours of
searching becomes like death
A torture of heart and head
bearing on with mercy
Where the strident plea
finds no rest
2/1/04
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Typed Word Series
PoetryWords connect all of us. Through laughter, memories, or ridiculous melancholy, we are what we say and what we write. TWS differs from WWS in form only. These are poems longer than 7 lines, allowing a little more freedom in exploring themes and more...
