Ringing, ringing, as the buzz in our ears,
An unceasing call we hope to end.
Convictions churning, desires arising
For a pull toward a fogging amend.
A hunger for the thoughts we cannot place,
A thirst for that which has not ever begun--
And yet we wander aimlessly still
For a call that has already come
And gone.
YOU ARE READING
Some of My More Random Thoughts
PoetryWith this, I wanted to take a simple idea, some little word or phrase perhaps, and turn that thought into something with beauty and meaning. It doesn't always rhyme but sometimes, it doesn't have to. It's the words themselves that carry the weight.
