At the edge of chaos
The jester dances
Expressing his reality
Through movement
He sings
And it echoes through the order
The sad songs
Of the agents of empathy
Their notes are felt
And then let go
But hardly appreciated
In this world of ego’s
Lyrics die on the tongue
Never reaching the masses
And the songs left never written
Are the saddest ones of them all.
-C.H.
They say that I have a hard face And that I am guarded They say that I am rough around the edges They say I have opinions And that I am a little different They tell me that I am difficult And that my
I have one friend Who is jealous of my single life With all my dates and stories But he Has a good job And a good wife And a good home And a good daughter And a son on the way He doesn’t see it But I
There’s a poetry night coming up here in a few days But my hands are too shaky to write And my body is too broken to fight My mind is too wild to sit still And my will fell ill awhile ago And the ego
