It's To Late Poem by poem whore

when that some-thing comes
in the wind you know not
what it is, ,
but it's there you can
feel it alive on your skin
life in the little moments
how ever so small
on a wet cold rainy day
or 90 and at the beach
it's there
some-thing in the back of it all
not seen with an eye ball
or read in a paper
but just felt
forcing life over all
gentle and soft
thinking above all going to the highest point in the sky looking
back and relized that I have died.