The Feeling Is Poetry

The Feeling Is Poetry Winter coming on and the streets wet with rain, thoughts of what if I am failing this game of life? wondering around the downstairs kitchen looking for the ice cream I delight in the idea that my words live beyond me and the feeling is truly poetry thoughts of what will I do in the morning after the rain is gone and the afternoons empty, without money, without work, there is the meager sentiment of reality closing me in, blurring my distinctions torn into the emptiness, crawling through it like a baby on the floor making my way towards the living room door I resigned myself to defeat and remained calm although nothing remained but the words.