I’m tired of this bowl
that collects my thoughts
in which I swim;
I yearn to break free of the memories
of this circular life –
around and around and around –
and dream my days only of the river,
whose currents would constantly renew me
with the experience of never standing still,
and I would no longer be stuck in here
with these echoes of days gone past.
Outside my window, the world rushes past
yet for me, I am here,
wondering … again.
Listen to the poem: http://www.box.net/shared/static/f52v1lq2bt.mp3

Kevin Hodgsons last blog post..An Easy Webpage Creation Tool

Except for Life’s plain mortar tiles and bricks,
Here laid all in clear paper wrapping still,
Crystal they had long since past afforded
Crushed under foot by blind and wasting will,
Smashing all but two of a set of six,

Leaving not one of the old candlesticks;
Ah! but there is yet a more bitter pill:
To think that this humble treasure hoarded
Should be taken through neither stealth nor skill
And traded for one last mind-bending fix:

What potion will Society’s poison drain?
What poison can eliminate Crime’s pain?

Ken Allans last blog post..For The Love Of Words!