Through the mind and hand gone still, I wait.
The quiet pathways of thought no longer stir in mind the rhythms that had once come with such quick ease. Yesterdays songs and poems no longer have meaning for me.
The ink of my pen has run dry, and I have but one wish; to live again.
YOU ARE READING
POEMS
PoetryMy collection of poetry. The first three of this collection are by far the oldest, but the rest I've written over the past three years. I add to this as I write the poems, but sometimes it takes awhile to get one down just right.
