The Day :: openeye :: Original Poetry

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The Day

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Emotional

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openeye

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The Day

See I reckon I have opened my eyes 2 late. I see my Son's lost in the world of fate. Not given the degree of what was left of me but taken before I noticed. Is it the pain of my flesh that now I detest the rage from my seed of design. Is this really my fault or was I the one whom got caught just because I believed in old-fashion love. As for my Son's I pray they never have to live this way finding out that their not even Mine.

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Poetry is either something that lives like fire inside you or else it is nothing, an empty formalized bore around which pedants can endlessly drone their notes and explanations.
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