Mood:
Poetry:
At the end of the page the words don’t just end
As I write, the world does continue, immortal.
In the end, that is poetry.
There is a fight, but no solider
There are scars with no blood banner delivered
Nor souls repossessed.
The hedge of roses whispers around us, above us
Words, the loyal friends, never strangers.
At the end of the page, words just drop
Forever immortal, that is poetry.
Muse6165@copyright.com
DC Ash
June 2006