Writers In Life? - Poem by Michael Gale
Who must know what must be, must be? ...
Who knows what is free for thee?
When will we meet our maker? ...
Throughout life, must we remain lying-ever taking-fakers?
In life we use people like a throw away towel...
We are not wise like a non caring owl.
Writers just sit in on life and examine with care...
Who else would do this?
Who else would care and stare?
Being objective has all it's own perks and credits...
We writers just do not get involved in life.
All we do is read, peruse, scan or edit.
Comments about Writers In Life? by Michael Gale
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You