Art

And it goes on and on

Our state was even designed to hold beer

The End

I've thought it best to warn you

Time and again

It's not a spirit shaken 

It's a spirit's end. 

Not all the way faded 

But erased more or less

Piled scraped stacks of papers

And bad ideas laid to rest

The ancient remains 

Of words without color

Draping a shapeless future

Like sheets underwater. 

There he waits for the owner

Of a capable hand

To revive what's been lost

And correct what's been planned. 

Starting Over

Today is the day I start a real photo journal blog something something. I don't know, get used to it.