My face isn't carved in a mountain. I've never been struck by lightning.
I've never saved a crying baby from a burning house fire nor have I over come my misfortunes in life to acquire a name for myself. I consider myself a writer although all I've written is only pieces of torn limbs of my distraught existence. (a bunch of poems)
Contact Form
Monday, April 23, 2018
Mother"*';#
When the brush turns green and it's though everything seems
The Crickets that sing are all that's listening
The song of redemption zones in the air catch you alone and make things Fair!
No comments:
Post a Comment
Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.