Friday, September 27, 2002

a poem, by Michael Sherrillo

Dappled, softly glowing,
the sun filters through the trees.

Like a golden shower,
my spirits are cleansed here beneath
"The Nature of Man"
a limerick, by Michael Sherrillo

We bang our heads against the glass.
Smarting, hurting,
We stumble back.
Then, rising up
With a foolish grin,
We charge back towards that glass
a Haiku, by Michael Sherrillo

Each day the grass grows;
No matter how many times cut.
Life is persistence.
a poem, by Michael Sherillo

How do I know what hopelessness is;
when my goals have flitted out of reach?

Is there a smell upon the air, rotten or fair;
something fragrant or something bitter sweet?

Maybe it's the way, the soft shadows grow,
slowly changing the world into black.

Or maybe it' the sigh of a lonly tree in the breeze,
swaying, forever, forward and back.
a poem, by Michael Sherrillo

Each day we make a thousand wishes,
silent, in our hearts.

And each day we sigh a thousand sighs,
as the dreams, unrealized, depart.