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.
Popular Posts
-
I long for the day when I'll go back To my old village Sandwiched between the interlocking Abardares And the thick bamboo filled Kipi...
-
She would weep every night Her ever present smile would fade Every time he announced his arrival With drank slurred vulgar tu...
-
Towering high, conspicuously mighty Obnoxious, murky, stinking-filthy Midst the sophistication That is paved manicured city stre...
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)

No comments:
Post a Comment