Poetic Voyeur
Posted in THE ORPHANAGE
Tidbits and wisdom gleaned
from centuries of experience,
and divine inspiration
are used for my own intentions.
Pretending they’re my own.
But its all been said before.
The joy is working with words.
Becoming keenly aware
how much I don’t know hurts.
Jeopardy facts,
I spit freely like a bazooka
back at TV.
Knowing myself, knowing why
eludes me til forever ends again.
No. Only until I die or until I live.
Posted by The_Emotional_Orphan @ 15 May 2011
0 Comments
Sorry, comments are closed.
Previous Post
« the color of nightly ritual Next Post
Noone At All, Was There »
« the color of nightly ritual Next Post
Noone At All, Was There »
The Emotional Orphan by JN Varnell / Psychoholik is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
Based on a work at www.emotionalorphan.net.
Blog RSS Feed
Follow Me on Twitter