Writing

Old, Decrepit, Vile. It stands there In the cold winter wood, Like a monument to All things considered unholy And unnatural. Defiant in..

This poem is a riddle about a very special egg.... Can you guess it?

Maybe I’m just rottingMaybe I don’t careBut this isn’t what he meantBy flowers in her hairI’ve gone to CaliforniaI’ve be..

I am nature; nature is me

lifeanddeath

All I wantIs for my friends and family to be safeI want to protect themFrom all the sorrows they feelA lot of what I’ve felt from this worldIs r..

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