..
See,
here’s the trick:
how do we know if they are liar
or love or lunatic,
thief or grief
or cool relief
or wayward street
that leads us home?
They carry swords and scars
and words and wars,
and they wind us up
and wound us deep.
We can’t know
what makes them tick
or tock
or walk the walk
or walk on out. Whisper,
shout or quell our fears.
We could spend years
holding their songs,
writing their wrongs
and still not understand
their hearts or the
significance
of a scream,
or squall.
And after all,
isn’t that what keeps
us here?
..
In November, we poem.
Whimsygizmo's Blog 