Sunday’s Poetry Post

Direction

 

We don’t know,

What came before.

What’s in store,

How things go.

 

We don’t see

Reason or rhyme,

Blind to crime

Do not agree.

 

Our constant fight

For daily bread

Leaves us dead

Snuffs out light.

 

Follow love’s guide

To the peak,

What we seek

Is found inside.

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About John Northcutt Young

I write. Remember making-up stories from spelling words in the fifth grade. A journalism degree followed. Thanks for looking.
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