Apparatus linked to the hand.
Eyes blink and the mind tends to flow.
Words spoken in the forgotten pen.
Passages read like a path to the soul.
Thanks for the freedom.
The place to grow.
I share myself you lend your knowledge.
I read your thoughts and inspiration follows.
Gratitude the gift that gives.
Critics is the gift of heartening mirth.
My thanks for the freedom.
Our place to grow.
YOU ARE READING
Salad Days
PoetrySad poems from sad and angry times. Written from a juvenile time (14 years old) to older. That's what you get when you leave a teen to ponder reality. A pen hits reality harder than high school survival. Original Art from Vivianne Rheaume
