The staccato rhythm of the broken typewriter echoes throughout the rooms and disappears outside in the streets. Gradually increasing the size of the paper heap beside him in the trashcan, the young man finds himself no closer to solving earthly mysteries than he was this time last year. Giving up on silence, glaring at the … Continue reading Late Night Poet
A cat sat on my garden wall. Its eyes burned like a fire. I watched it nearly half an hour, Then off it quickly ran. I sat awhile, with curtain drawn, My life upon that wall. The cat was gone, still I stayed on. It's strange how life seems planned.