When poetry slants,
And phrases dribble down,
My parched lips part,
And life trickles in
Where nothing else passes.
A Psalm, a song,
An edge-wise word
Tipped over
Into my soul.
Gerald the Writer
Poetry, essay, and prose, oh my!
When poetry slants,
And phrases dribble down,
My parched lips part,
And life trickles in
Where nothing else passes.
A Psalm, a song,
An edge-wise word
Tipped over
Into my soul.
Gerald the Writer 
To experience a revival of our inner being. How often doesn’t it happen without our own volition?
that’s a truth. Thanks J.