Wednesday, July 25, 2018

Two hours to write one short poem....




A Life

Youth was juggling
confused days
trying to forge some
existential meaning.

Adult life broke;
we awoke
to new kinds of pain.

At last joy is found;
we almost get the
knack of living.
And with age
we forget much.

God’s tears spill down
as summer rain.
The rainbow appears.



7/18

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