A poem by Nigel David Richey (Contributor for the Culture of Awareness)

Oh woe the soul who knows not of home only to be shown through the eyes of one he loves. Oh woe the soul who knows not how to roam, stranded in places once considered as tombs.

Oh woe the soul that dreams not. Locked in a cluster of clouds and mustard, holding onto that belief all good things must be eaten and erased like custard.

Oh woe the soul that woes at all, experiencing defeat instead of victory of the head of the Champions ball. Oh woe the soul