Wonder
A day
drunk with the nectar of
nowness
weaves its way between
the years
to find itself at the flophouse
of night
to sleep and be seen
no more.
Will I be less
dead because I wrote this
poem or you more because
you read it
long years hence.
……. …… …… …….
Tears
Tears
The crystal rags
Viscous tatters
of a worn-through soul
Moans
Deep swan song
Blue farewell
of a dying dream.
– Maya Angelou
( Maya Angelou Poems )