Thursday, February 5, 2015


Desire is birthed innately,
struck deep in cell and blood,
pure appetite for living;
destined to be known.

In shiver of pure time,
the soul excites, becomes,
as life does shake its being;
Self made, the work is done.

In passing years and moments,
the surge does wilt at last,
turns limp through steady aging;
and so our time is past.


About rosross

Editor, writer, poet.
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