P     o     e     t     r     y      . . .  

Poetry

Poetry

animal

nothing withheld, no survivors-

reduced to speechless bones

destined to find different paths

to walk on separate stones

but then we knew, love didn't we?

every kiss, sigh, reach, & push-

twisting your face in agony,

body-demanding this, (poison of the soul).

even now i rise to the memory-

musing, "what if the end..."

never will i look upon the

day's first light- and not

recall what did occur

     on

        carpet,

       couch

       and

         cot.

by Justin Olmanson

P     r     o     g     r     e     s     s     i     o     n 

read at your own risk...

discovered, lost and squandered

death

various people

prayers, hymns and questions

W H     o     m     e