a word floats above on the beach of earth,
and we scamper to bounce it still higher;

such a fun, innocent, game; escapement.

others' words are forever taking my space.
as i have to seek, yet and still another to be heard.

my truths, my isms, my cinemascope view
of my 'mine' are forever ajangle in my pocket.

all the din from senseless jangling of others' same;
rather tiring on the nerves of a man trying to go sane.

i make a bed of my[preciousness]and snuggle-up,
as tomorrow is to be treated with respect
for it is filled the future.

few of us hear it, feel the same. there's no convention;
suffrage of other's reality as a belief. laborious.
so please don't kick my feet as you travel by me. go easy.

09/06/2011

Posted on 09/06/2011
Copyright © 2026 Charlie Morgan