SICK
Tell me why,
does beauty die.
While the corrupt grow strong
And evil thrives?
Is it just my state of mind?
Or is the universe sick inside?
Is there any sense at all
Why towers rise while forests fall?
And why my son, should he call
Should find his dad’s not there at all.
A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.
Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.
| Title | Comments | Submitted |
|---|---|---|
| Title | Comments | Submitted |
| EVIL | 0 | 02/04/2014 |
| Disenchanted | 0 | 02/04/2014 |
| A poem of loss | 0 | 02/04/2014 |
| Lies | 0 | 02/04/2014 |
| She | 0 | 08/01/2013 |
| Last words of a sane man, | 0 | 06/26/2013 |
| untitled | 0 | 01/24/2012 |
| The Sadness | 1 | 01/23/2012 |
| last star | 0 | 01/13/2012 |
| SICK | 0 | 01/10/2012 |
| Little Ode | 0 | 01/10/2012 |
| HOPE | 0 | 01/10/2012 |
| The Pub | 0 | 10/08/2009 |
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