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Saturday, May 12, 2012

Unsure Yet Still I write

These muse are roads once traveled
Sometimes bumpy, nasty and rough .
Perhaps I've helped to shape its course.
Often now When I return upon them,
I'm torn unsure yet still I'm brave

There's a few trees here, mostly cactus
Leans over , whispering that this is home .
I go on, towards the noise and the rise of children
And the barking of a dog or two.

Until the day I see a life's time work
I have not done a thing .

There's more to be revealed my friend ....

1 comments:

Ron Porter said...

Good verbal portrait of a journey across a bleak landscape. I don't usually like open-ended poems, but I love this one. It doesn't leave a sense of incompletenes rather, it leaves a mood of anticipation.