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8/23/2019 5:34:10 AM Brent Foster Posts: 4	Sitting on a log Where we didn't find the frog, The frog that wouldn't bound; so wasn't there to make a sound. Exhibitting its mound. It would have been a song, resolving of known wrong. But it was there, in what was near unknown to us a clear. Now under there, beneath our log: spins dreams of disregard. Completion, filling what was wrong, interpreted through dreams and song. The water flows and ever-so, towards ways which we couldn't go A silent smoothly natural wisp, sharing for pure time with it. We see no wrong, we witness strong, Fueling energy among- How we see a day to day, complete in similarity. Those streams below that log we know, describe nothing but what's to show; a time we shared with what we know… as natures convoluted glow. Together on that log we sat. We understood as separate. We started something real serene, acknowledged thereof certainty; that once we leave for different things- the time we shared is still serene.
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8/23/2019 5:34:53 AM Brent Foster Posts: 4	Tell me what you think!
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8/28/2019 3:22:09 AM Edmund Strempfl Posts: 10	A flowing poem but I like a little creative imagination for spice eg the croaking log
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9/5/2019 11:10:17 AM Jack Webster Posts: 255	Reading this was like driving through a car wash whilst none of the machines are on. What did I just read? It was like reading gibberish only they are real sentences. A riddle with no lock to pick.
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