"Who are we?"
He asked.
"We are the dead,"
She said.
"Who wish to be alive."
"Who are they?"
He asked.
"It is who they portray,
For which they all do strive."
"Where are we?"
He asked.
"We have been led,"
She said.
"To where we bare our souls."
"Why are we here?"
He asked.
"It's our day to play,
Our self-depicting roles."
YOU ARE READING
A Long Book of Short Poems
PoetryHere's a collection of short poems I've written over the years.
