 |
Haven't decided on the title, feel free to suggest
|
 |
O bright nebulae in
this shroom box of darkness,
weaved by wicked Gods
that waft wastefully and
consume everything created.
Here we stand,
reduc..
|
 |
In summer's slice of life's pie,
heat beats down, both wet and dry,
ov'r valleys, which I call my childhood home.
Insects pitch a welcome note, the..
|
 |
Donot hasten the silken winds that blow,
the call of the clock,
the magnetic ebb and flow.
In the dichotomy of moments,
that you linger behind--..
|
 |
~for a slam poetry contest I would be participating in~
|
 |
On her sunglasses,
buttermilk clouds bask.
February winds rise in waves
and blossom inwards.
Drinking the lemonade sun,
her fruit punch lips lust..
|
 |
My heart's aglow,
like a dusty lava lamp,
on the midnight stroll, setting camp,
like nomads into an igloo
of powder-blue ice.
Ice-lolly midnight,..
|
 |
~A scribble to get the muse to work again~
|
 |
~Life through rose-tinted glasses~
|
|
|
first
prev
Profile
Writing
Friends
Share This