The road was surreally marked.

The road was surreally marked.

A Poem by andrew mitchell

What is a face
not seen?
What is a mind
not heard?
What is time
without a place?
What is a footprint
without a foot?
They are all marks.
But what if “ what is”
isn’t what it is?

© 2019 andrew mitchell


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Added on March 11, 2019
Last Updated on March 11, 2019

Author

andrew mitchell
andrew mitchell

adelaide, Australia



About
Strindberg said. " When I come home and sit at my writing table, then I live.... I live, and I live in manifold fashion of all human beings. I depict; I am glad with the glad, wicked with the wicked,.. more..