http://slow.writerscafe.org/RonE317 The original writings of author RonE317 en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776028614 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 I live in a townwhere children are angryand culture grows mosson its broken back. And todayI cry; not because I’m sad,but to feel the warmth of my tears. I breathe in a citythat suffocates my dreamsbecause it will not acce.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/RonE317/1473462/ “I promise”, so she said to me,as I wait here patiently.All that I ask is hear my plea;don’t leave me here… alone. A vision that was clear to me,the future that was meant to beis clouded, I stand helplessly,with no one else… alone... http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/RonE317/1470162/ When all hasbeen done and there’snothing more to see,will anyonecarethat we’vegone nowhereand thatbeing was notjust to be? http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/RonE317/1467535/ I used to keep a notebook on my night stand because, I thought I would, in the middle of the night, write down my dreams. Well, after two years of staring at the empty, first page, I saw this. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/RonE317/1452556/ Here I amLet me be countedI am hereLet me be heard Broken and batteredLiving on passionStanding before youNaked and scarred ConfusedDeterminedMisunderstood Give me a stage and I’ll hold up a mirrorGive me a line and I&rsquo.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/RonE317/1451342/ The littledark haired girl is goneThe littledark haired girlThe littleThe darkGoneIt’s nightagain and time for bedIt’s nightagain and timeAnd stillshe is not next to meAnd stillshe is not nextAnd still And still…I can’t.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/RonE317/1451340/    Remember the tripfrom Greenvilleto the Jersey Shore; the beer warmingwith each passing mile; three kids in the back of the buswith July dawningand little thought of tomorrow? How loosely we held youth.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/RonE317/1441973/   On a bench by the river,shadowed by mountainsof glass and steel;in filthy clothesand worn out shoesI sit. One by one they pass;the long parade ofbeautiful womenwho will never know me,never want me,never love me. .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/RonE317/1441954/   The old man moved slowly through the crowdas he did most every night,with a guitar on his back and a smile on his face. He’d been coming here forever-or at least as long as I’d been-and I never saw him play for anyone.&nbsp.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/RonE317/1439463/