| Poetry |
Long Ago
Mere fragments now,
bits and pieces crystallized,
misted over, frost covered,
empty manikins, less fluid.
The what if still remains,
haunting, as if we matter
to others, when lines are
foolishly branded by time.
What becomes of pride,
when right and wrong no
longer participate and
fate an empty solution.
Apart from our history,
nothing stands in our way,
a history beaten back by humility.
by JD Roland
Email: This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it