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| A town awakes To a butterscotch Sunrise. From hotel and Apartments in Western Europe, she tells her friends and others who listen, "I'm from Tupelo, honey, My father loathes Me for the person I've become." A town works And plays To a Southern Comfort tempo. Four page letters "lost in transit". Unopened dreams And playground poems, Discarded gifts From tortured Bloodlines. Shattered Hopes dying In a twisted bed. A hungry woman Fed On suppression. Ever open hearts On sleeves That weep. "Touch me not, for I have much to hurt you. Save yourself from this love so rare. Tell me I'm right, not a tainted angel. Caress my emotions On this switchback ride" A small town Sleeps to a lemon Peel moon. |
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| You can e-mail Paul with any comments you have about his work. |
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| All the Authors work is copywrited and may not be used without express permission from said author |
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| Tupelo Honey by Paul Suckling |
| The Fire Inside by Paul Suckling |
| She has crossed into hushed insanity of another heaven Her Dreams tossed like pebbles into the darkness. Yesterday, I watched as Mother Earth relcaimed another of her daughters. A little of that which is me goes with her to the ground Inside, her soul burns. For the dead live by love. |
| 'The Fire Inside' can be found in 'Hidden Statistics' |
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