They say the soul is in control -
Within the written verse.
I find sometimes that when it rhymes
My poems become perverse.
The poetry that’s deep in me
Just waits to be released.
It may be sad, or even bad
A muse can be a beast.
A tiny knock just might unlock
The feeling of neglect.
Yet with a frown I write it down
To save my self-respect.
Insanity, impiety,
Bipolar feelings too -
And when I hear that knock I fear
My soul was overdue.
So if you heed these things you read
You may not be quite sane.
Because my soul has lost control;
I wrote this short quatrain.











you are like a beam of bright orange sunlight...I could just soak you up! 

























































sss 















172 old applause, 3 applause
