he walked along a lonely road
and felt the hot wind blowing
had never left the western toad
his pace still easygoing
he never stopped to tie his shoes
as tight as he was told to
some say he even wore them lose
and never strung anew
© 2011
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You see, here you'll find poems and prose of opportunity and seasons. They're ours, though, so we have to protect them. Respect! Thank you!
Readers are welcome! If you are willing to follow the iconian path, you should know that it is always you we are talking to, even if it is not. And that everything is true, even if it is not. We all are eternally united in the last space possible where even the impossible is real. We ought to believe the foretold: If we'll meet tomorrow, next year, or never, it doesn't matter, it's only time! And everything, even time is fiction.
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