The lines <br />get severed, <br /> <br />the thoughts <br />thrown back <br />among pyschic <br />rummage, <br /> <br />or resorting <br />back to classic <br />tattered old poetry <br />manuals, <br /> <br />until something <br />spurs the soul on, <br /> <br />ancient Warrior <br />poets, <br />stuck on hill tops, <br />marooned on islands, <br /> <br />forgotten seconds <br />I held deep inside <br />many many moons ago, <br /> <br />I thought I could <br />remember so much more, <br /> <br />but no... <br /> <br />and now I'm as old <br />as you were then, <br /> <br />about to be dead <br />or closer, <br /> <br />no clearer, <br /> <br />just more accepting, <br />of this small <br />development, <br /> <br />in how the words should <br />go...<br /><br />GRANT FRASER<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/cut-59/
