On PoetryListening to the imperfect melodies beat out by Hundreds of thousands of falling drops of liquid ice Preventing my tortured mind from finally falling into The powerful rejuvenating arms of blissful sleep And leaving behind an eclectic, haphazard Trail of tears upon my thin glass windowpaneOn Poetry
there is poetry
Driving down the open freeways of this or any Other state I watch as the lines of varying colors As they dance and intertwine among themselves Never beginning, ending only out in infinity For asphalt isn’t merely black, but shaded grey, As all surfaces cont
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ღIf I had my own world...
I'd build you an empire...ღ
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