Most can sense,

Few can feel.

Accepted as pretence,

Invented pre-wheel.

 

 

Most can look,

Few can see.

Like the fisherman's hook,

A cruel necessity.

 

 

Most can talk,

Few can convey.

An accent, a look, a walk.

All players in the fray.

 

 

Most can listen,

Few can hear.

Those eyes, they glisten,

Hydrated by fear.

 

 

Most can admire.

 

Few can love.

 

Twitter, Poetry contest 2009, social network for writers

poetry

Last updated 259 days ago by Lewis Donaghy