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Brown shades and enclaves of cornered days
that are creeping to my time in this sand.
Damn those who don't like this man, because this is for me.
This is for the lost innocence that has been in the
wind--hourly, weekly--and month to month.
Soul in the trunk of the car of life--got to make money to live
right. Right??
Am if I'm wrong, I'm a bum, shunned by the
masses living behind the glass getting wet--they'll all forget me,
if I don't live life correctly. poetry can't pay the bills.
Damn, I want to live but the plan has my hands tied--
from corporate america to giving back to america,
there is no time for me. So of course
there is no lady, or babies, because there is no bread.
And the cheddar has molded, the only paper that is folded
is my poetry.
So I give this to thee, to do my part to add to the prosperity of the
art-form--excuse me for rhyming profusely, or misspelling my words--
this is from the heart, taking me back to innocence daily.
For I've hit stages and blazed pieces so hard that the crowd got a real bad contact---and I loved that, jonesin' for that next tract.
But now there is no time, for there has to be money to live and the grind will suffer, I just hope to leave you with enough to cover you---
until I return


------
Clarence B. Barbee



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The following comments are for "Till I Return"
by Nabraska

Hi, again
I came here after reading and commenting on your last piece. I agree with Tina, some excellent expression here. I would find it easier to read if it was formatted differently and put in to stanzas. But as Tina said, I too am no expert and have learned all I know from others comments on my and other poets work. So warm regards, huni. (off to read the rest)

( Posted by: Huni [Member] On: August 29, 2004 )





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