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the poetry of Charles Fry

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stone

1994–1993

18 December 1994

the Song of my heart as it grows and changes

So this is Life.
not quite what i expected
nor what it is made out to be
not filled with excitement and endless enthusiasm
in fact rarely even out of the ordinary
i guess it is mostly made of little things
like smiles and thoughts and comfort
often hard times boil it down to the bone of routine
(though with practice even this can be invigorated)
and there are people
no matter where you go
everywhere they are only people and nothing more
behind their suits and sunglasses and beards
they all exist within themselves
they all feel pain
and they all feel joy
And my place in it all?
obscure
apparently insignificant
yet some how important
for i too am a person
and without the likes of me there would be nothing

 Here's one for ya.   go find yourself.   late again   skys passing wave raining clouds and offer healing sun   où es-tu   dim Mornings in the underground   memories   squirming on the bath room ceiling   open   the faces on the side walk pass me by   life and living   Song of Peace   from Time   the Mountain   My Father   so i painted a red cross on my chest   my living eulogy   my plastic house   alone again   frustrating   the Song of my heart as it grows and changes   In Dark Brick Dungeons   clanteba mortillia   Lonely is   my call to this Omnipotent generation:   friend (and, by now, even brother)   my PCC   Our Garden   Cognoscente   The Home   careFree   the Children   full moon   if I were a Painter   For You   Caterpillar March   Prison   As I Went Walking   Norwegian Cockatrice Lampposts   Departure   or   The Falling Apple   Peace