Walking to no where. They all look the same Headed back to the cave an unhome with sleepless hours They all act the same my existence offends them. Staying quiet my voice is but a screech to them. Good deeds are mocked and futile, nothing changes. Their joy is my undoing. Their goal is to rema...Read more

Refreshed: the first mighty poem I was to write. refreshed it wasn't submitted. The word itself seems as if something was once fresh., but became refurbished. Refreshed I'm not, tired of thinking of present worries from expired experiences. A dictionary would probably have a better discription wi...Read more