Tuesday, December 10, 2013

12-10-13 Letters To The Ghosts Of Old Poets

Floods of goodness demand attention
Sneaking around in colorful shadows
Cookies crushed in piles of sweetness
Snowballs sailing in the crisp fresh air

If poetry represents the inner consciousness
Then these were probably not the words
To best describe the soul of our civilization
These are words of modern artistic expression

Heat radiating from citrus sunshine creativity
Melting away into pools of oblivious beauty
When the icy blizzard of ideas freezes over
The war of words will finally come to an end





           

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