Bleeding in rhyme and prose I keep moving
Thought to action as I beat on the drum
Calling out them and those to my proving.
I ride the coattails of others ahead
Finding that my own movements lack beauty
Or a modicum of grace -- rotting, dead,
Writhing in lonely truth, smoke screens fool me.
Silent echoes respond in mind and heart
Giving me pause to continue onward
Love of self and worth lost, hope torn apart
Splitting, fragmenting on issues forward
Dreams are like that these days, lost in grieving
Memories of the frey, host to theiving
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