the poem tree

the words are few and fleeting they hide outside my door my poet's mind retreating a hollow empty roar i turn to quiet nights and share old words with the dead these lost and passing spirits whisper kindness in my head the sleep it comes sporatic the Sun no longer beams to light my inner sanctum's eye to capture poetic dreams i yield to blank submission the flickering screen and stare i feel no sense of mission the poem tree is bare

Deckard

I began writing poetry when I was a teenager and it truly saved me from a destructive path. 'Time Heals' will be on my grave stone'. I have 3 incredible kids who are the greatest gifts that God has given me. If I have advice to give to aspiring...

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