In the waking moons.
I write my best verse.
A closing of wounds.
The most evil of curse.
The words write them selves.
A compulsion of sorts.
The drum of purpose.
This supernatural force.
I hope I've written.
All my pain away.
Inviting new energy.
To bring a new day.
It's love or sadness.
And no in between.
No words of indecision.
Have I got left to glean.
Words of great meaning.
Passion, pain or practice.
Each a worthy path.
what ever the price is.
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 12:42 PM UTC
In the waking moons.
I write my best verse.
A closing of wounds.
The most evil of curse.
The words write them selves.
A compulsion of sorts.
The drum of purpose.
This supernatural force.
I hope I've written.
All my pain away.
Inviting new energy.
To bring a new day.
It's love or sadness.
And no in between.
No words of indecision.
Have I got left to glean.
Words of great meaning.
Passion, pain or practice.
Each a worthy path.
what ever the price is.
© All Rights Reserved Jack Thompson 2015
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