Soul Pressed Poetry

Poetry that comes from our soul.

at night (10 Aug 2011)


at night I can hear the stream
it pulls me back
no matter where I go
in my head

in my head
there is always the swirl and froth
or languid passing
of liter and debris

everything is on a journey
over clouds, we try to fly
always the sunrise disappears
or never ends

when I leave, when I leave
I hear my thumping heart
I feel my beating head
at night

if the stream were to stop talking
the ocean would know
its death


  1. Very nice and unrushed — very nice steady foundation for the conflict within.

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