Color Wheel
Aug 18, 2017 ·
4m 8s
August 18, 1999: A poets color wheel I find myself wondering why poets can’t seem to locate—it’s a quest. Sometimes I get tired of wanting to know. I’m not a...
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August 18, 1999: A poets color wheel
I find myself wondering why poets can’t seem to locate—it’s a quest. Sometimes I get tired of wanting to know. I’m not a know it all. Yet it seems I want to know it all. A needle drops into a haystack—I can’t hear it tumble, until it kisses the ground. Yet, I know it’s there, wanting to be located. My mind searches for such a song—lyrics unmade, so is the bed but this isn’t poetry about my mother.
show less
I find myself wondering why poets can’t seem to locate—it’s a quest. Sometimes I get tired of wanting to know. I’m not a know it all. Yet it seems I want to know it all. A needle drops into a haystack—I can’t hear it tumble, until it kisses the ground. Yet, I know it’s there, wanting to be located. My mind searches for such a song—lyrics unmade, so is the bed but this isn’t poetry about my mother.
Information
| Author | Arroe Collins |
| Website | - |
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