Experience

Experience

This box called life now holds me

Yet in its wake I’m set free

Pictures of music

Temperatures in rhyme

All the smells

Keeping things in time

Door is open

Left wide open

Hoping I will find

Always drifting

Left and slipping

Into it, this is mine

And of the creatures

Low and holding

Sensing my demise

Are cowards lurking

Seek not worthy

Of my souls divide

I capture not a thing

For it the songs we sing

And if we left A breath not kept

Experience

Is echo’s ring

© 3/5/2004, William Grant Preston

Grant's Rants - Poetry