It will never go or give up, It is a wanted resident Making its way to a
Love growing could be as Short as a leave that kisses The sun begged to kiss not, It could be a lantern bright But not bright enough to see far,
Turn my words to dust Turn from dust to dust Play my favourite type of blues Paint it from blue to blues Pour me a bottle of wine
poetry in my bones, just a little plenty in my bones, it burns and burns even when i try cleanse away creativity in my bones, i have love for other things;
One will fail to believe, if not Seen or perceived, what solemnly; Another heart had muster Precariously, for intent or brief A talent titled grief.
How will thine love as handful, is it as hate would make a flare? Heart would be burned into dark as… But some will bare to inhale The smell.
We go from Dust to Dust Bones to Bones Cleared by air Bitten By Termites Sulked by rain
Never Count your Work Because Your
I write Like every Words will Be a hit in Someone’s heart.
Word me a river & Fetch me strengths Move me nearer And let us faint
I read a lot of Bukwoski Drunk And spitting words on Paper, And a little of Oliver
Poetry Poetry is for the weak The clean and tucked in worker beh… Poetry is for the lazy The fragile breeds with a right ha…
Under the stripped trees in a pear… Winter, there i found a white blos… Dropped in a muffled sound-like And it formed A surface,
A very good piece does not Wake up In just one rainy day Or perhaps a sunny day If there are no luck, a very good… Might not even rise at all.
My luck changed when I found a qu… A parrot with a blue tail Golden feathers Pointy beak Very moist and incredibly tethered
