Words Are For SuckersWords AreWords Are For Suckers
I don’t write poetry. How can I? Turn emotions into words, Feeling to text? To capture the joy In a lover’s gentle kiss? Or the solemnity of the deep, dark wood.
The music in sound, The sound in
Silence.
La
Image With A MissionImage With A MissionImage With A Mission
Proud man made of sand In his blood runs life of land Flesh of rocks, small and tanned His future lies beyond the dawn
Walking forward he seems to take No notice his body lost in the wake Though each limb might crack and break His goal, it seems, will drive him on
By now he finds his form diminished Shrunk and small but far from finished One sole object holds his interest The distant horizon to which he’s drawn
From his gaping maw, a guttural sound He groans, and gasps, and gurgles And stumbles, and t
My Desktop
New Years Resolution
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You're not so friendly neighborhood catboy
I am Torn, and Torn is me...or something like that
"Fiction writing is great, you can make up almost anything"
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Why is every day I spend so fresh?
If you need links to the help desk just ask.
--
You're not so friendly neighborhood catboy
I am Torn, and Torn is me...or something like that
"Fiction writing is great, you can make up almost anything"
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