heres to love
and it wounds and healing
heres to hate
and its nemesis dubbed forgiving
heres to blindness
and its begotten child called apathy
heres to kindness
and its subjuing sense of sympathy
heres to truth
and its heartless betrayal
heres to lies
and its favored mate called denial
heres to life
and all its pocketed questions
heres to death
and its suicidal suggestions
heres to everything
and all its promises of nothing
and heres to the writers of life
and the answers that theyre bringing
heres to us all
living and often dying
heres to us all
ever faltering
ever learning
ever changing
toast.
I have read many poems through the years (the few years I have under my belt) and I have seen many peices of work that deserve far more recognition than they ever recieve... this leaves them all behind. I always thought I was a pretty good poet... well frankly, I feel kinda small and insignifigant. this was incredible. Don't stop writing. I will read more.
Lindsay