Kristenna Gaylord Poet I do not know?

Marching

Road.
Endless.
Allow one to be carried by the mob.
Swept away.
Blind fate.
When tired,
they replaced.
But not us.
Chilled,
the bone.
Throats,
parched.
Out of breath 
we,
pressed on.


Found Poem: Elie Wiesel- Night

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James Fraser January 23, 2011 at 6:44 AM The searching of a fork in the road. A different turning in life desired but still not found. Leaves the reader to think Kristenna....:)

Jancarl Campi January 22, 2011 at 10:46 AM This poem does have a touch of sadness about it. I see a wandering about here; perhaps a searching for truth. Take care, Jancarl