I do not claim to have a great source fuel for my poems. My interests include playing the Clarinet, sketching and kicking a soccer ball around. But he holds truth. The people move away, Gagging on the smell, Of their fear. Truth is terrifying.
Eye contact is made and broken, For who can bear even a second, Of that scorching, white fire.
Feet shuffle, Hands fidget, Shifty glances move across the bus, Away from that vile man, For the scared run. The unknown holds truth. But the stranger shadows him, Only to be revealed again on another sunny day. The poets will appreciate your Feedback. Please feel free to Add your comments.