Eric Cockrell Poems

just poor folks,
living in an old house,
sleeping in a corner
...

old hands unbutton
the blouse of the day.
old hands make coffee,
open the dusty blinds.
...

when chapters become books,
and passion becomes love...
written in hours and minutes,
in days and weeks...
...

love,
a series of deaths
by design...
self immoliations
...

i go back and look at my life...
and the things i'm not happy
with were caused by my own
decisions, my own mistakes.
...

she's in love
with another woman...
they've been in love
...

there is no love
that is lawless....
love transcends law
...

we, who've walked this hallowed path
to where rivers meet and mountains kneel.
who discovered fire in long ago caves,
and found treasures in books long sealed.
...

you burn madly,
an out of contol flame...
a car racing madly
...

we have become old...
and have earned this time
of turning... turning wind,
...