After years of being a closet writer, my poems started to tell me they wanted to get out more . I have a roving rambling heart myself so I completely understand . Happy travels .

Friday, May 21, 1993


Inside of my world, inside of my soul
Breathes an immense passion
Come back from the old

No more use does it have, no meaning, no more
I've ignored it, so forgotten what it is for

But still it lurks, like incense through the air
Causing densified growing scare
And heat, inside my house, my body
Invading my brain, becoming tangled and knotty

Yes this passion, this love, why didn't it die?
Oh, how the tumble of thoughts make you understand
That you can understand nothing, and forever try
And let pass all the passions which, attention, demand

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