End Of April Poetry


It’s been said
That I am a romantic
And this, from time to time, may be true
But tonight
I am a cynic
I am Bukowski
Driving around Los Angeles in the rain
With tears in his eyes
And a broken heart
But it’s hard to find anything
When it’s always dark
And always raining

Like Atlas

Every time I go it alone
I end up on my knees
Crawling helplessly through the night
Looking for my bed
Where I can brace myself
And whisper words
Toward my heart
Toward the sky
Toward Jerusalem
Whispers of desperation.
I foolishly act like Atlas at times
But I am just a man
And the burden is always to much to bare
I need a divine hand

The Wild Within

You are like the wild
Dangerous and vast
And I wish to get lost in you.
You are a river
That flows around my heart
You sweep me away
You make the banks of my heart
Spring forth with life
And in the wild
Or within you
My head and my heart
Are made new.


2 thoughts on “End Of April Poetry

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