David Whalen Poems

The note was limp From the damp
But crisply written
In both content and style
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If only sleep was
As simple as closing one's eyes

And dreams could be chosen
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Wonderin' Why

Eighty years…goin
Strong…What has God against me
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Love is no more than
Madness made real

A sapping of one's sanity
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You Are Nothing To Me

Atoms are what you're made of
Billions of which can exist comfortably
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God Willing

Eighty years on this
Ol' Earth…I've written much…
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There are no limits or binds
Upon Mankind's most amazing mind
But much to Mankind's sorrow…
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Eyes fixed in space…
Not here…but far away

Strange how
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