Truman sought for answers
to all the Whats and Hows and Whys--
his fidgety opinions worn to nubs.
A feather brushed his ear,
suggested faith in sharp and distant skies.
But, in skimming those open heavens,
he descended beneath assuagement.
Soon, goodbye to pupils.
Hello, eroded vision.
Now he can only look at Heaven
with attritions in his eyes.
But this affair unearthed another answer:
Find discoveries within--or forever be without.
He's a sinner, perhaps, to parrots
but Tru, to himself.
A happy, smart, and peaceful creature--
Tru Lee Wyse.
A contest entry
- Truth. by Kelsey-Jo.
1700 points, ended October 17, 2007, 11 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
-
I like this poem alot. I feel that it displays your unique creativity, which definately makes it stand out!
Kelsey-Jo
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