Ah, poetry, the incessant melody of wordiness.  Writing poetry is like putting together a puzzle that has no reference, and has no end.

November 9th 2009 "November" by akkurt
Change is the constant that drives the world forward
relentless in its relenting to the next day
the next month
the next season
November is that time of change.
Wind changes
skies change
Life changes
our world colored with all colors
represented in black and white, and grey tones of death
or sleeping

October 28, 2009 by akkurt
Wake me to the tomes of rain upon my tin roof
knowing that autumn draws nigh
the harvest moons have shown aloof
and summer has had its last sigh

The new wind carries that special chill
that warns me of coming silence
the sublime nature of arctic thrill
that carries my love in the storms violence

Soon the world will fall cold and crisp
taking with it the hues of life
no more haze or willows wisp
all is replaced with warming strife.

I welcome the new season like an old lover that I no longer wish to love
But that is the way of time, seasons, love, and change
Sometimes we never know why...

Words By akkurt October 28 2009

Words, such feeble creatures of inconsequence, when lost in the vast sea of other words. when spoken for ill or shallow intent.

Words, the straw houses of those unwilling to look deeper leaving the speaker falsely content, and the hearer no better off.

Words, to many without meaning to those that spoke them. While those that hear them latch lovingly onto them begging for their context to ring true. Wringing from them the meaning that was never there.
Words are to simple to speak, illiciting with ill intent the desired effect from the perpetrated, and the wry smile of the perpetrator. 

Words do not float in the sea of other words. Words must originate in the understanding of the speaker, not just in the desires.

Words are my friend when I speak them, and my enemy when they are spoken upon me...

Words are the raw materials of thought