Chris Wainwright Poems

High upon lonely barren hill,
Where so few seek, all but season's time stand still
The winds blow fresh or with bitter chill
Tis a man's true exile
...

So, what defines a rival?
What makes a great adversary?
Do they have to be male or female?
Or maybe it's something I cannot yet see?
...

From that very first moment I saw her
Walking out of that stately old door
My mind filled with joy and hope
Of getting to know her some more
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My silent prayer
I keep to me
Never to be told
Never set free
...