Tuesday, April 29


there are times that one feels lost
feels like he knows really nothing
small child naked in the frost
for some warmth desperately lusting

love and hate do blend, these times
the red line becomes so pale
and when looking at the sky
one sees nothing but black paint

but it's nothing but a tear
that is waiting to be shed
and within it as it flows
drowns the hatred in despair

it has always helped me so
staring at a moving cloud
it reminds me of how time
washes clean all that is foul

seems my poetry is weak
for it is nothing but words
reminiscence of that child
thankfully well trapped inside

let me tell you one last thing
when to ungratefulness you succumb
kill the fear and seek that child
long ago you alone have trapped