Come in, its warm.

by

Paul Lancaster

Homeless and poor.
Hopeful crys of a shallow pool.
Frozen over, glistening light of reflection.
Crack the surface, jump in to the infinately deep pool of destitution,
Stuggling for air, twisted torsos.
Thrashing in a hopeless rhythm of beating drums,
Born into the world of dreamers.

NEXT?
Why don't you look at We Who Love
by: Wesley A. Storer
from: Spokane, WA, US

To visit all of Paul Lancaster's poems, click HERE

Check out these deals at Amazon.com

...the best independent ISP in the Twin Cities

To write us about this page,
contact willy@dreamagic.com (Willy Chaplin)