The Cricle

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  • Confusion

    The Cricle
    Sometimes good sometimes bad sometimes a mess and sometimes just alright.
    What have I done twisting and turning this life god gave me.
    So good god gave me two boys, so bad the drug dealer is the baby sitter.
    Broken home I did maded whole home I did came.
    When money is good smiles are plenty.
    Good, bad, messy, and alright my cricle of life go's forever.

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    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.

    pebbles75’s Poems (2)

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    Quick silence 0 03/10/2009
    The Cricle 0 03/06/2009

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