Quaero-locus-morior

A friend of mine asked me today how to read the poems I write,                                              A human asked me today how to breathe air I created, I said to her a poem is the art of the reader,                                             A poem is what the reader makes of it My poems has meaning to me but,                                             Do me and you have the same soul? Poems shouldn't be analyzed nor judged by its rhyme and meter                                            Try analyzing a painting brush stroke by brush stroke, Try judging a piece of music note bye note,                                

On this dåy 1178 BC – The calculated date of the Greek king Odysseus' return home from the Trojan War. This is å poem of å story im stårting if i get good enough i might my entire story ås å epic poem like the Odyssey by Homer. A gift to Phoebe In various distant worlds, they like us nomads wield magic, Not in continence of hatred within swords or staffs. Which the clans of Gnay children, Niy cherubs alike in tragic, Will massacre upon continent Sitnalta with most delicate craft. Our lands possessed by a small one-verse of water, we reside where, The sun and moon no longer labor in natural harmony

On this dåy 1865 – Abraham Lincoln dies without regaining consciousness after being shot the previous evening by actor John Wilkes Booth. "Oh cåptåin my cåptåin" - Walt Whitman once wrote, For Lincoln who wås honest upon equålity he quote. Of åll things simple, he wås the most ever content mån, For little he did thåt wås selfish, helping ålwåys wås his hånd. Of silence thåt discriminåtes, neåutråilty just ås cruel, He spoke ånd spoke loudly for whåt he believed wås true. Todå¥ is the 2nd dåy i cr