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It’s hard, this life at times. Like;
carv-
ing algebra equat-
ions
into granite.
With
mysty mynds
and all of
those, why?, god-
ammits.
Yet,
pers-                           ever-                           ance
has                     found                     me,
lost. And, carried me when I’m nought
& cross. It’s not easy, but if it was,
would we care, as much?
For, every raindrop, that fills the puddle,
the lake, the river and the ocean.
Has it’s journey of which to speak of, through it’s own cascading potion.
A feeling, an emanation, a glimmer, an emotion. A way, to make, a shimmer in the sheen, over brook or stream,
in every fountain, of our mysty mynded ; notions.

© poormansdreams

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