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1 another poem on Sat 04 Sep 2010, 14:21


Down With the Sickness
In the quiet wind, fading away
so familiar in most ways, but never quite the same

Through the once open door and clear blue sky
hunting out for more night after night
in the wake of day lost and found are often one
sometimes changes known to none

Exiting pathways through hills and trees
X's and O's in thoughts set free
in time a crime is ready for blame
sometimes doing and not doing lead to one and the same
through sights and sounds sometimes heard by none
entrance usually no more subtle than the average gun
nothing more or less than in the start
coming close but always so far
end of beginning or beginning of end

(did you find the hidden question?)

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