Treasure Island

Is It Poetry

(1958 - / Bus-Boys And Poets, Washington D.C.)

I Never Felt At Home-Below


I never felt at home below.
As people come and go.
Silly when I give this thought.
Where in the end we go.

The sun begins it's arch on high.
All feel it's noon time glow.
Blind eyes would let it fade away.
To set again each day.

Submitted: Thursday, July 04, 2013
Edited: Friday, July 19, 2013

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  • Poetheart Morgan (7/4/2013 9:14:00 PM)

    My hands stirring
    my heart shrinks
    pounding
    ls one with the bird's chest
    of much curiosity
    to know where is after all
    our home-below
    Lovely poem! ! ! ! And thanks for your comments Poet. (Report) Reply

Read all 1 comments »

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