somewhere beyond
my ego...
lies the poet
who writes for,
the love of the sound,
of pen scribbling thoughts
upon fine lined paper.
the writer,
who devles into
the murk of the
morass of thoughts
rowing across the swamps
of the disordered mind.
the scribe,
who takes photographs
with words
deftly framing light and shade to produce
thought provoking images
so good, yet,
so hard to define.
the racounter,
who can spin a tall tale
on the edge of a dusty dime.
the truthseeker, soothsayer
not afraid to speak,
even when speaking
is condsidered a crime.
the jonguleur,
who plays with words
of six syllables or more, keeping them flowing, creating rhythm and rhyme.
somewhere...the earth mother lies
distilling truth into jots
and tittles
and sowing them into
lines...
somewhere...beyond
my ego...somewhere
Feb 8, 2015
Feb 8, 2015 at 6:17 AM UTC
somewhere beyond
my ego...
lies the poet
who writes for,
the love of the sound,
of pen scribbling thoughts
upon fine lined paper.
the writer,
who devles into
the murk of the
morass of thoughts
rowing across the swamps
of the disordered mind.
the scribe,
who takes photographs
with words
deftly framing light and shade to produce
thought provoking images
so good, yet,
so hard to define.
the racounter,
who can spin a tall tale
on the edge of a dusty dime.
the truthseeker, soothsayer
not afraid to speak,
even when speaking
is condsidered a crime.
the jonguleur,
who plays with words
of six syllables or more, keeping them flowing, creating rhythm and rhyme.
somewhere...the earth mother lies
distilling truth into jots
and tittles
and sowing them into
lines...
somewhere...beyond
my ego...somewhere
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