Poetry is what surrounds you, the air you breath, the the golden sunset you see, the chirping birds you hear, yet the wind that blows off your clothes such that we see your naked mind.
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Today, in a bus home, I sat next to a gentle lady By all signs she has aged gracefully I watched her swipe through her smart phone ...
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I play like a little boy I roll in the mud muddling with my toys I play hide and seek and drown in childhood joy I look in the mirror, t...
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To search in the crowd For a mysterious face that’s strikingly familiar To search deep into the subconscious For faint infant memorie...
Monday, July 18, 2011
simonpoetically: DESTITUTE( For soldier-boys of D.R.Congo and Sierr...
simonpoetically: DESTITUTE( For soldier-boys of D.R.Congo and Sierr...: "Destitute Product of human Vengeance Young tender finger Firmly on the trigger Desperate Unmothered, untethered Soldier-boy D..."
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