New Journal



By Tim S Poma

The wind blows threw my hair and leaves me not a care
As I blankly stare at you and your vacant glare
I softly stat to hear words of wisdom whispering in my ear
My dear my dear we got to stay clear of the disaster
that’s approaching in our rear view mirror faster, faster, faster
As the tear quickly grabs my face
I can’t remember how long this process has to take
As I sit and reflect on all of mine and our mistakes
I wonder what it is that we should bring and what should take
To the grave to this rave and to the new journal on the next page.

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