A Poetic Life

My first pet wasn't an insect but died just as quick. Not my first memory, yet my first agony. Totally took me by surprise the size and color on the door of my new frog. We played all day and when I got home to show my parent...there he laid. Dead. Dread. Breathe. Live. Thrive. Don't die. Why? It's my fault. This poor being, now with the all seeing, all knowing, this growing lump in my throat. Did I choke, no, I started bawling, fell to my knees, somewhat crawling.



Life has its ways of knocking us down, testing ground. The difference between profound, sound, allowed, and a mound of ground chuck that use to be your heart. There, that's a start of a somewhat unimportant man displaying what he can. If you would like to read more, I have it galore. I can rhyme as fast as I type, my sight through verses not rehearsed can astounish the most posh of reader. My emotion can be a bleeder, or as kind as a golden retriever. A believer not yet, this is simple content. I'm new to this site, I just might, I just might...