poetry
to make sense of the world as best we can
this is how we live
you are a quatrain to me
you are a sonnet
my mother is a villanelle
her brain corroded
the violence of words take flight from our pens
my heart is the white space
between lines of faded text.
Stu Buck
Sat 9th Jul 2016 17:47
thanks david! if in doubt write about your all consuming thirst for poetry.