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a piece on how constant poetry is in my life no matter the back drop

Poetry to prose

Writing_freelance_online_content_dayton_cincinnati_columbus_centervilleby Tim Campbell20 Nov 2013

As dreams fall on to my weary eyes
Before closed mind for the day at 9:33pm
Restoring what tolerance and patience is left teetering on the precipice
A battle wages on inside my soul spirit
Behind the laughing and pretend stupidity for others to giggle and chuckle with others
A book half way closed
Lines without periods in a sentence
Unstrung together loosely coming to me in times of contemplation
The revolutionary rebel resistant to what around says to be
The air is thick here in Alabama with yes sir’s and yes ma’am’s
Redundant politeness of a fighting to be as a child perceives
The meaning of worth as exhausting as lifting 200lb clams out of the sea
Pushing cars up hill
The Buddha with live and let lives
He does not say a word except that of being left alone with the birds and the trees
Silent peace unheard in days
The counting never stops
By seconds and smaller
Frame by frame waiting starts and never ceases
This battle wages with one constant the wrestles with the men and eases their rage to a standstill
Poetry to prose as a bullet is to a gun
The only one weapon a word can tell the story for men to know what it means to be such
The mad poet unsilenced by money
The will to be…unchanged upon the peddler of things to those who seek it out with golden pocket watches and no value on their riches
The battle wages and wages around a fire the story teller lyrics his way through the blood and guts only as a mad poet can