Reid@YWP

Can there be a house without a home?

Can there be a king without a throne?

Can there be a priest without a faith?

Can there be a ghost without a wraith?

Can there be a hero, without a quest?

The West Wind is a banker in a smart navy suit and a tie. His dress shoes clack on the pavement; he’s got someplace to be, always someplace to be, rushing to the sidewalk, the subway, the elevator, checking his gold Rolex watch.

Today was a fairly good day. I love myself. I love my life. Read this next time you're in anguish. I'm watching October slip by like fall leaves on a dead tree. I need to find something else to do besides watching the time pass. I have no energy.

I come here to

express myself

semi-anonymously,

but freely

and happily.

My laptop is

bombarded with

tabs, one of which

is YWP.

Always.

I may not

write a poem

You matter.

Not in a pastel poster sort of way. Not in a science teacher’s dad-joke shirt sort of way.

In a rain drop sort of way.

The rain drops don’t need to be there

Not all of them

For it to be raining.

20,000 leagues above mankind sits an ivory tower

A tower with men and women who hold all the cards

A tower so strong not even a missile barrage could crumble it