When a distant poet reflects upon the aura of a tribal paradox he or she is left helpless.
Matters of the heart will impart cadence toward the simple minded that grow in apathy.
Those loves of the heart that reach out so tender as in a delicate rose in a lovely vase.
Faces in the window having storms in the night look deeper then ever before,
Mark the man willing to explore so much more we can both agree to disagree with each other.
Under the sun there are hills that taunt as in a silo left dangling to a degree.
Never have I attacked another poets words with such a fanatic intent
There are doors of perception its hard to let go the evening tide of its flow
Shouts of grandeur being prepared for the great here after life is but a gamble
Why is there such a thing as poetic policeman in their queer army hats unleashing their fire on the populace.
Try to think way outside of the box to a time well spent in thought with tender words.
Look in the most desirous way for tender thoughts with words.
Enough of my soap box rant its time for your marching orders to behold fresh material to display
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