Edward Webb Poems

The famous sound that comes in summer,
the chorus that comes with each morn,
...

Temperate natures can give unto the tempest of day.

A gentle breeze upon thy face,
Interwinds with gentle rustles
...

Life, lived; not by the, present, contained within the Now,
so thinking of a recollect - of what your mind will allow

means present becomes, neglect - and past, does future infect,
...

I spoke to a little bird today,
it landed beside and this be what I Say;

Do you know that your a robin good sir? famous to our eye.
...

justice: as word, read by perpetrators eyes, is cruel as meaning is defined,
consequences drawn on them caught,
soon shroud actions in, murderous blame,
...

The sun sets its cycle., a misguides perception,
There is no true edge,
For is there really a morning?
and What is a night I; pledge!
...

When light ebbs away from a livings eyes,
and livings age, pays its wage,
so the body to soul no longer does engage.
...

Mirrors: are reflective to an image for the eye,
mirroring the seen, but mirrors reflect also a lie.
Mirrors, only show what a mind holds inside,
So make the reflected truths, turned lies reversed in mind
...

Sometimes the gold complexion of heaven is dimmed,
by grey mass in whipped wind
can give rise to a storm laced with electrical suspension
...

We write lifes story,
from the fossils of death.
Yet what about the creatures of past, no fossil left
...