Sometimes I run wayside down a trickling sky.

Like a fool with no bearing,

I’m swallowed by the passing time.

I don’t know what we are doing.

I think we’re waiting…for something.

Like a spiral,

Not a dream,

But worse.

I’m going somewhere I think-

Sometimes I think this,

Until I can’t think it anymore.

Less and less believable,

I believe,

When I can change so easily-

My words don’t mean a thing.

Oh, nothing is changing,

When every time I change-

There’s much more gone.

It’s all just going away.

Leaving less words behind,

And less of me to gnaw on. 


Grant-Grey Porter Hawk Guda

Powerful expression! Please never stop expressing from the heart. Continue the journey of poetry. 

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