I came back to the poem with more ideas, Trying to wake up the unsuspecting reader To walk with them though my stories I didn’t want them to think I was rapping nor was I singing the blues
Poetry is no longer frightening Like a sudden force of lightening; Awakening your senses to the art From the start: to the fuzzy end
I dared you not to walked away from this piece However, I beg of you to read this piece with ease Today, I wish that the little birds on my window Will sing to me, but instead the cold morning breeze kept them away: An exciting dimension of their songs makes my day Comes alive:
In my lucid dream last night, I saw beach goers Watching the tides go in and out: way down the harbor road Their soak their feet in a stream of warm running water
So I took a seat and I joined the relaxing crowd Dreams are scarier, more than poetry.
Sadness flies on the wings of the morning and out of the heart of darkness comes the light. ~Jean Giraudoux
I came back to this poem with a sense of knowing, that a
*Poet can survive everything but a misprint Oscar -Wilder