My life flashed in front of me momentarily blinding me a large word it was just one it said simply "poet". Not a wordsmith like the rest of you oh no a simple wordsman a left over talisman near death. A homeless soldier in the field of life. Unless Kerouac was a poet. EE.Cummings was a poet. SOme even say that Shakespeare was a poet call him bard making plays that rhymed. Rudyard Kipling was a poet although to me he will remain Author in his stead. Charlottes web was not poetry and yet E.B White wrote all them books but poetry I tried to look and no it just seems not. I was never really there inside when I was growing up and so the fact of facing another near death collison with the end of time soon coming is not scaring me at all as iff I was just a Kohut in the snow. name: A namme (rare: 1 in 100000 families; popularity rank in the U.S.: #17702) I am blue. Not yet turning blue. I wanted to make the classic that everyone would always love and fondly remember perhaps the word of CharlaX seems so wrong I made a lot of stones. A lot of poems some of them so very very adolescent like my mind. When time ends for me no one will see no one will even care an execution in the dark of night. We cannot let a poet live. We cannot let a Jesus Freak upon the Earth. We want a real person with a number on his head or in his hand. This poet is so sad. This poet was your friend. poet.
