Hum, the meaning of life, thats an easy one.
http://www.bmts.com/~taunton/main/menu/cmt/specialhearts.htm
aint nothin else
BTW, thats my son and ignore the link at the bottom, gonna fix that one of these days.....lol
Sitting alone dark and silent
The rest of the house snug in bed
My pen making no sense or order
Of the words that race through my head
The papers lay crumpled beside me
Filled with words that didn't seem right
My thoughts they seem to betray me
As i sit in the still of the night...
The heat of the day rises slowly
As the clock on the wall counts the time
The sun casting shadows around me
As the hands count the hours on by
This day it is hardly upon me
The sun up above brightly shines
As i sit all alone in the shadows
Coffee in hand feeling fine...
A poet is someone who meddles with words
He twists them to meet his own needs
Makes something exciting seem really quite boring
Like a child who sits stringing beads
Puts one then another along in a line
Till something of beauty is formed
The words move along as if dancing together
As the work of the poet is born...
Christopher R Taunton
[ 02-26-2001: Message edited by: Martiangod ]
The Oldest Damn Question In The?
