What makes the birds sing
at midnight
I hear their chirps through
the tiredness of this world
and can only surmise
they must be warning us
of what
it is hard to say
skip to main |
skip to sidebar
It's always getting late.
When I am not writing this is what I do.
"In the present we are always in memory." - Trish Keenan
It's always getting late.
Introduction
This blog is a virtual notebook of writing that I maintain as often as I can. Poems, stray lines, random observations, all co-exist here. Revisions occur as needed/deemed fit.
See/Hear
A Chronological Archive of Joy and Heartache most often referred to as LIFE
-
▼
2016
(372)
-
▼
March
(16)
- Routine
- Lost & Found
- Broken hearted but your tongue is still working
- There will be a time of Hope and no pain and in t...
- Time Enough
- An Endless Cycle of Despair and Gluttony
- I will not fight for that which I do not believe
- All Human
- Warnings
- We are a selfish and insecure people
- There's a part of me thats died that wishes to liv...
- Parading A Corpse
- Do you want to love me or Do you want to fight?
- Looking Into the Pasture
- nights of consequence passing days of no import et...
- El Segundo Blue
-
▼
March
(16)
About Me
life
When I am not writing this is what I do.
No comments:
Post a Comment