The friged morning,
wrapped in a sash of tears.
Waiting for the
springtime to turn.
Each small laugh
turns to emptyness.
A single dark angel weeps.
Wind beaten,
yet silence can deceive.
Dragged into the eye of the storm
A Wandering Poet
As I walk around I like to record what I experience. Through poetry, ideas and thoughts I hope I can share some of these experiences with you.
A Wandering Poet 