I didn’t really think that far ahead.
My days were lived as they were what they seemed
Dissolving then, like fog upon the hill
And rolling into new ones, never dreamed.
But if those moments offered up the ghost
Of longing, to be mine before the grave,
One might say that I dreamed of heartfelt songs
Offered daily, offered strong, and free, and brave.
Join My Email List
Thanks for stopping by. I hope you'll share your thoughts, too. The comment boxes are always open.
Poetry Lives Here
For more poetry, visit
Poetry Barista at