Mists

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  • Friendship

    Mists

    Its been told that I'd grow
    I thought it true too at times
    When time seemed like it solved all problems
    The questions made simple by the answers
    None ever so slightly certain as one question
    kept following after each supplied answers
    Yet now I know that One is no good
    without another. A self could come up with the answers for awhile
    Its exciting, its new, its a maverick point of view
    A lone ranger could be happy in a ranch
    A dove could enjoy flying solo
    But it gets old, the feeling, the excitement all gets stale after awhile
    If not refreshed and continually renewed
    By friends, lovers, acquaintances, strangers in the mists.

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    Poetry is what gets lost in translation.

    Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

    DennisterM’s Poems (13)

    Title Comments
    Title Comments
    Orange curtains 0
    Pines sap 0
    American 0
    Grimhilde 0
    Western 0
    Sweat 1
    Mists 0
    Separation 1
    Deadened 0
    Horizons 0
    Inner 0
    Awake 1
    Soldier 0