from ages ago
honed by time
seeping through history
mixing with today
the stuff of legends and myth
the questions and conclusions
of men and women
who no longer
exist
their words
live on
in the dimension
called now
blending with thoughts
the questions are the same
conclusions are drawn
words live on
and on and on and…
faces stretched across the years
shine brightly all~ways
You know Mr. Ichabod, if I ever hear You say You can’t write poetry, I’m gonna have to come up there to Canada and give you an ass whoopin’!!! This is beautiful! I LOVE your writing. Thank You and Cheers and Namaste All.
there’s supposed to be the word ‘again’ between poetry and the comma. Ooopps.
Hi miss bliss;
you’re gonna have to catch me first and i can run faster scared than you can mad.
Secondly, i really am not a poet, i just grab words and lay them out like a jig saw puzzle. That is not poetry, more like quilting.
i appreciate the fact you like my quilts, some are not bad, some are terrible.
a true poet makes a person feeeeeel.
i only move their minds a tad