Thomas Wayne Foreman
Thomas Wayne Foreman Poems
|8.||The Seed Of Death||4/7/2003|
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In the stillness of a quiet mind, breaths in harmony as free & kind.
A wondering of what's to be, who is this?
That is me!
Will I release myself to be free, or will I open & choose to see?
A foray of mentality in frolic sleep, thoughts in immanence once buried deep.
The choice is mine only I am to say, I awaken to enbraven another day.
Angelic wings comfort our songs in pride, am I but a timeless breeze on rhythmic glide?
The human form as a flower in bloom, ease aside as we grow & give us some room.
Am I as a moon desperate in sight, or as a traveler free in flight?