A Poets Worth
Something changed inside of me back into the darkness wrong direction taking some of love away with it to make me less a person in the manner of my love. Worth less than ever eye was. Eye look at these people these computor users as they read emails and watch movies and never touch the keyboard near the papers and the books it's just for looks as some of them sit and stare brain dead at the silver screen not even eating lunch how do they stay so clean when did they shower when did they munch. They are otherwise so smart and worth so very much. They have attitude and hearts some of them even have the love the bible mentions all the time. But they fail at faith of GOD when they refuse to love the old man the Poet in the corner typing this so fast and furious in his delivery hoping for a later date endeavor then to publish this non static crinkle paper words made up upon the page as if they mean the grave will come if they are gone. There is a hurricane all around me but in the center is the eye. Fortunes are amassed to further civil wars to build up civilizations then to render them as useless as sea expanse of grass with nothing grazing in the sky no birds go by but bye away they leave post haste in ipso facto delineation forgotten like the can of soup eye left in Mississippi near the road the spoon a real one left there stuck eye bet it hardened in the sun eye bet they tried to pull it out thinking there was food without the Kingdom come of Arthur he would call the spoon Excalibur and place it in his scabbard near the wide expanse of grass. A bit of aging flesh. A poets worth of words.
