Have we time enough,
To gloat about,
The dewy haze
Of blossoming spring’s.
Human fears,
That seem to grope along.
Breath,
As it hustles through humid lips.
Reckless mind,
That tempts the soul.
Or where lurks the truth,
The universal truth.
For what man sees
Is a crumbling stage;
Beside the light
Of immortal ways.
A contest entry
- Three Options by sOuL.
450 points, ended June 16, 2008, 7 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
-
good luck for the contest
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