Poems from the
Inside
Seek
the light of day . . .
Sometimes the Grind
Sometimes you just get tired:
tired of the marching
tired of the ranting
tired of the symbols
tired of the words
tired of the battle.
Sometimes,
you just get tired;
as if,
you sat at a pedal powered grinding wheel
and after building up momentum,
bend forward;
you lose some steam,
so you pedal faster;
then farther forward
lean;
place your forehead to the wheel,
grind away.
Can't you hear the sound?
Spewing everywhere
little pieces of my mind . . .
© D. Winter 1999
