One Poem by Christopher Holmberg

I've become one with the roving spirit,
a steady whine in my delicate ear.

The extras float and comb their dreaded locks,
but I ride the soul where-ever I must go.

Penetrating my wings,
and grounding my kindness;

So I wait and watch as the others spread trifle;
a powerless grin permeating my static face.

One and all I have,
as the roving spirit suffocates my pain.

Releasing my unbitter ornate conceptions,
and becoming aware of the common dissensions.

Copyright © ®2009, Chris Holmberg. All rights reserved