Is It Poetry
Who else from this day forward,
look to the top from the past.
Rethinking the edge out of reach.
Who else would be sent there to see.
Teach them to and
kept close to you, I must be.
Far from today, before night falls.
I call him down for you.
Little cuts spreading open,
are closed shut.
Deep where the shadows are wise.
How inside the window of deeper thought.
He came here to see what must be.
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Comments about this poem (Imperfections by Is It Poetry )
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- No veg', george albot
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