he Ever Flowing Stream is gone from My Life
Gone is the ever flowing stream.
Will I ever find it again do I ever dare deam?
Will the Warm Sunlight ever again touch my Soul?
Or will I lay unrecolected, dorment, and shatered only to become cold
Entrapped in mud my feet be.
I try to get out but I have nothing left. I have no enery.
Poem's don't have to ryme to be true.
They are spoken thoughts, sights, and feelings of what we are going through.