Bread
There are pleasant memory types of poems,
and ones describing how the heart moans.
The ones I try to write are bright with light,
then the fingers turn them dark and of the night.
Shadowed, ghosted, and reflectively seen,
painted, playing on a discolored screen.
Some tell of stories and perspective views,
others speak to the my you of the you \'s.
Sorry this ones is just to clear my head,
food for thought, consider this one bread.