Day in, Day out, death and happiness, heaven or hell
Here we are now
In the forest of dreams
Who amoung us will run with the hunt
Death peers through the branches
We are a vast quantity
Of nothing
But souls and dreams
With the weight of the world on our shoulders
What is it that brings us the sense of right and wrong?
A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.
Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.
| Title | Comments | Submitted |
|---|---|---|
| Title | Comments | Submitted |
| Long lost child | 0 | 07/09/2009 |
| I will take you | 0 | 07/09/2009 |
| Clinical Depression, Uncontrolable confusion | 0 | 07/09/2009 |
| Day in, Day out, death and happiness, heaven or hell | 0 | 07/09/2009 |
| What does it take? | 1 | 07/09/2009 |
| The Crazy Train | 0 | 07/09/2009 |
| Let me out | 1 | 07/09/2009 |
| Lost in my subconcious | 1 | 07/08/2009 |
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