David L. Wilson Poems

I entered his home as my voice was his,
Thy lowly room where he dwelt in ruin,
Thy Cats now roam here and as I see this,
I find his chair is now placed in my room.
...

Nothing is wrong with me is wrong with me,
To "Know Thyself" is to pray for sweet death,
For thy chameleon's strength is what I flee,
Vast tundra my only friend till last breath,
...

"Why are thee crying?" She then said to me,
Thou tales of angels my heart can not bear.
My old soul corrupts, decayed form indeed;
My dead eyes turn to dust from her bright stare
...