It's the, Not

It's the dog we bite not the one we feed

it's the path we take not the one we heed

it's the poems we write not the ones we read

it's the wounds that heal not the ones that bleed

none of these are what we need.  

The Light That We Get

Is already old

what appears to be warm 

might now be cold 

what looks like a man 

might be his muse 

it's how things are 

not what we choose.