How come these words just come like a male with his ideal women.

They fall they land.
Never really planned.
I found this ‘talent’
So many years ago.
This characteristic is my flaw.
I understand so much, Yet so little.
When will this aptitude stop.
When will I be forgot.

Is it good or is it bad,
That I have poetic ejaculation
It covers the page
Makes it wet
Uncoloured , yet dangerous.
The seaman my words,
The unborn child the end result.
The birth the conclusion,
The apprehension of peoples opinion.

The life of this child
Continues with mine.
The old age is the dog edge page.
Left to rot, dying next to me.

Looking back to your younger days,
When I myself was a child
I would never understand the unplanned way,
You came to life.

07/16/2007

Posted on 07/16/2007
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