Inanimate, yet an immortal I speak without speakin’ needs no batteries, ne’er crashes unless thrown in the corner.
My father’s son I am; I am hard to repress from a distance you’ll without doubt pick me out from a multitude even before you engage me before I open my mouth to speak.
When we were teens, less than 20 desperately innocent, full of wonder a word was rarely utter’d at dinner.
What’s a poem? Is it witty word play, phrases or sentences that are stripped prose meant to be insightful, arrayed in stanzas and verses, that at times its theme seem puzzling or incomprehensible to a…
Restlessly, relentlessly I roam in the dark unable to sleep, too excited by thoughts in my heart and head.