How many a time have I stood before
This bleak, pale gray, rough hewn granite door?
It's portage hole through which to see
Reveals little majesty.
I gaze beyond its ever solid frame
And the course, wild truth begin to tame.
Although wreathed in pale mystery,
It's true form, I have to see.
It feels my gaze on it;
Turning runs, I, unfit.
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Assorted Poetic Musings and Ramblings
PoetryA compendium of my poems. I just needed to put it out here at this point. It's less for you, the reader, as it is for me to know its out here. These poems are not for the faint of heart, mostly because they're bad enough to kill, but also because...
