Haiku

white beard and red suit
a big round of **, ** **
Jolly Santa Claus

Band- aid  doesn't fix bullet holes
people **** each other.

People reached for the weapon
and pulled the trigger
people **** each other.  Why?

http://www.vox.com/2015/6/23/8833529/mental-illness-mass-shootings

Another Sabbath day, another sinful neighbor and her husband
Trying to keep it holy: over there at number 1 Sea view Road
For so many years those two folks kept on trying:
faith works with patience

He kept on asking this the same old question
wasn't it time for me to make some changes in my life
When are you going to church"?

Mandela frequently deflected accolades by saying,
“I’m no saint—that is, unless you think a saint is a sinner who keeps on trying. “Quote

While the sounds of the siren, startles the restless babies
A full Breakfast consists of fried eggs and crackers
A pitcher filled with coffee……and this poem
Anxiously waits to submit…

The sounds of the sirens, breakfast consist of eggs and dry *******
Dangerous heat wave is reported in this part of the country
The loud music of the selfish neighbor, boom box
It’s time for carnival. It’s time for the carnival.
And added plus to the sound of the loud siren
Wakes us up in the morning to NYPD  helicopter circling

Its Brooklyn, it’s the ghetto,
Its Ludacris, it is selfish, it's the Sabbath

I remember the land,  

I remember its people,  

They ways, the stupidity of

Their mentality, I never came

To heard of this term depression

Until earlier on in life,

I came to terms with hatred, bigotry

Because it’s a disease, right up there

With cancer, and corvid 19



Do you remember, the children

Of the eighties, and their carefree looks on life

Drugs, *** and intellectual freedom,



It goes like this. I don’t think of labor

I don’t think of work. To be laboring

Means to be working, and if it's not self employed

Its slavery with small wages. From the man.



“i remember the land and I remember its people

They stupidity from their mentality had worried me

I remember the dead, and I remember

How those trees outlived them,

I Remember the language of the trees,

That whispering sound of freedom

And the sound of human longevity,  

Due to the kindness of a matured land



The waste land we leave behind,

even without spoken words

Can tell a story, of abandonment,

You might see a grassy area, I see, a court date

I see families fighting for ownerships,  

I see illegitimates children,  

fighting for the right to

The land we leave behind, even without

Spoken words, know it's worth.

How do you come to terms with yours..

Do you still remember: the flyer flies?
And the harmonic liturgical chant of the invisible crickets
Outside our window: oh how they soothe
us to sleep : an added plus to the sound of the falling rain
of all our wishes, did we meant to leave the
tropical sound for the deafen sound of gun fire ,sirens,
or burning tires of city life, startling's hearts everywhere;
almost every hour upon hours of restless sleep

awaken to the swift sound of chirping, squeaking engine
my heart longs for those crickets outside my window
as they hide beneath the tall wet grass,
I remember how I slept between darkness and dawn
Remembering happiness comes from contentment:

She already knew what she wanted
he kept insisting that’s work, work
She was so hot, hot; he was so cold,

Her hot flashes, verses his cold feet
Bring on the friction, or the vapor rub
Some way or another, she was getting some

Forget about the work, work, and work
Not fishing for compliments: she hints,
Just some good old fashioned comfort and enjoyment

During the fidgety February morning,
While money was on his mind
his baby’s hands was under the sheet,
with that timely rhythmic breathing of a
Metronomic beat, leading up to their ****** healing
Without the thought of work, work, work


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oiGHY6q-snI#t=12

Goodbye vanity
I was never in love with him:
Oh, no you departing fading days,
When would I see you again?

Your morning sunlight, your evening breaks
I long for summer days once more,
Stress, depression and the holiday’s mood will fade
The aching heart will adjust,
As it reject the love of a mortal:
I will love myself more, and more

But, like a child on Christmas morn
Tigger and I would be glad when Christmas is over:
We relived it through the eyes of our
Offspring: every year as it comes,
Another sibling to cherish,
Another moment to say to a stranger
Merry Christmas, seasoning greeting,
The happiest wouldn’t last

But the tears will rolled,
As the sun goes down on Christmas Eve
And yet and yet and yet another mistletoe
And where are we?
Back to square one…

Weak motion of instability
I count the years and the times you invade my body
I call out your name Pain. I called you chronic pain
I remember my first experience with you

You ******* the left side of my body, you weaken me
When I stood up from the bed, you held me down
No matter how hard I try to be strong, you enfeeble me
I tried to drown you; you swam back to shore,
And came back to shore with a vengeance:

You **** me in darkness; you humiliated me in the light;
You are not temporary according to others,
#Pain is temporary. Quitting lasts forever#

Nestling in my arteries, while enjoying my misery
I know your name is pain: I hate your games,

Stop choking my dream, stop following me
Let me howl, let me sing, let me dance,
Just leave me alone………………..Pain

From the look of you:
I became the arrow and you were my bow
That aim right at my heart:

I grasp my chest
Looking for the blood of redemption

You were my rock,
Never my divider,
And I fell right into your trap.
Launch into nothing…

Someone once wrote
I never thought I’d keep a record of my pain
or happiness:

It all started back in two thousand and four
That was the day he fornicates with the island *****
Today, I am searching for words and meaning:
Of lost, lies and regrets: but what have I done to ensure

It would never happen again,
I had to clean the mirror of truth:
Hold back from falling in love again:

Then I remember the quote:
The face is the mirror of the mind,
and eyes without speaking confess
the secrets of the heart. Quote St. Jerome**

On the other hand it was the best thing
I ever did: and that was to test the water:
Somehow, it made a lot of sense
About two is company, three’s is a crowd:

What have I done? I let the weasel ran free
So that I could have built up some happiness,
Yesterday, is history, today is creativity and new ideas
Tomorrow seems like pending announcement:

I wandered lonely with my silly thoughts
In the depth of my physic mind
I heard laughter; I felt their pain

The crowd jumps over obstacles
Naked, green and unapologetic, they scatter
Those curious eyes, those silence viewers

My audience and my critics I must indeed say that
A poet’s mind seeks shelter, from the addicted past
Feeding off the water-main black ink fumes

Composing their thoughts on old brown paper
Closing in: on innocent bystanders
Before they yield to the power of the unknown

So many magazines, clips, circling freely in the hands of evil
so much times to take down the innocent bystanders
We have to wondered on who is in control of life and death?

Smiling on the outside, feuding with the devils inside
I made a promise to God,

That I would not allowed any man to make me cry again
Calling her name: calling out her name
Throughout a passionate moment of love making. Untamed

Despite the years in captivity, the victim
Still love the abusers: his was nerve racking:

*** for me is like my poetry writing: unfinished
I am constantly hitting  the spell check button

I always find a little happiness,
Then it fades like the passing months
Give a little, takes a little
Sometimes, we just have to heal
That wounded bird, then
Let him go free:
Stockholm syndrome is no exception.
Let him go free...Annie!
love is strange

LORD THANK YOU FOR LOOKING OUT FOR ME ONCE MORE
THE DEVIL CAME TO MY DOOR, I LET HIM IN
I ALMOST SIN, AND NOW HE LEFT HIS MARK BEHIND
THAT TOO WILL FADE IN TIME: Duration
I AM INNOCENT IN THIS MATTER
I TOO FEED UPON THE KINDNESS, AND Vulnerability OF OTHERS
WHO WAS TRYING TO DEFRAUD ME,
SO, I WILL THINK OF IT AS THE PLAYER GOT PLAYED
MY IMAGE, AND WORDS WILL BE ****,
BUT MY SOUL WILL STAY NUPTIALS
Lord, forgive me if my need
Sometimes shapes a human creed.
BEEN HIDING WAY, WAY TO LONG
I WAS PRESENTED  with A CHALLENGE
TO GO OUTSIDE AND PRETEND
THAT I WAS SEEING EVERYTHING FOR THE FIRST TIME
AND RENAME EACH AND EVERYTHING THAT I SAW
CAN I ERASE MONTHS OF MEMORIES, AND DO THE SAME?
TO EASE THE PRESSURE OF GOING INSANE?
THE WORD LOVE STICKS IN MY WIND PIPE,
AND SILENCE MY SMILE AND MY ****** IMPRESSION
SOFTLY, I WILL FORGIVE MYSELF AND CALL IT
MOMENTS OF STUPIDITY, ANOTHER PAGE FOR
MY BOOK ABOUT SUFFERING IN MY LIFE;
deficits...?Am I aging with sense, or weakening with relationships deficits...
Instead of being ******* myself I should adopted this way of thinking

“Instead of putting our elders out to pasture, we might learn to harness the experience, affection, and time they have to offer.”

Yesterday my name was Babe
Tomorrow I will be called ******
But at this hour it will be Nalda
The one who escapes from the jaw of the lappers
Annie We Can Do It..

Tonight I’m to lie here and think of you
In slow motion: I am going to let the memories
Warm me up from the inside,
While the wind whistle his favorite tune
From the nearby window on Lead Vale Road
I will stay in touch with my best friend King

The one who brought me my first
Right on Magazine: the most memorable one with
Michael Jackson embraces the front covers:

That was in 1978, when poets wrote meaningful pieces,
With meaning, that touches the process of thinking
To boost our poetic frame of mind: this in turns dealt
With some of our internal or external reality in events
that happens in that era
Like his father Leaving, by Ira Sadoff back in 1945
A wonderful piece of write to be remembered

Tonight I’m to lie here and turn off my ****** thoughts
In slow motion: I am going to let the memories
Of us warm me up from the inside,
I remember those raining days which kept us indoors
Where a week of rain, felt like a death sentence
No hands holding or walking in Queen Park with King
No late night window shopping,
only lips singing from afar
Behind our share bedroom doors:

It was only yesterday, walking in the rain
And seeing so much broken umbrellas litter the street in the city
And my thoughts turn to him, with our broken umbrellas,
we retrieved them and sew them back together
Tomorrow I will pray with King
that an injustice will become forgivable

P.S:
**It would be easy to become a victim of our circumstances and continue feeling sad, scared or angry; or instead, we could choose to deal with injustice humanely and break the chains of negative thoughts and energies, and not let ourselves sink into it.”
― Erin Gruwell, The Freedom Writers Diary

There is tropical warmth
Inside my heart, that
Only an Island girl can understand
Why we eat the mango, the way in which we do it:
Making that small hole at the top, as the sweet juice
Sipped into our mouth, Like fresh breast milk

Mangoes help you unclog your pores
and add freshness to the face.
The internet is changing the way in which we think
Too much **** information, on things
That we already know from long ago:

Knife and fork to eat my mango;
Yeah right!!! Leave my island mango alone
Tourist westerner man!

Not once did I mention
the relationship between the island girl, the warmth
or the joy we gets from eating a mango…
but I will let you in on a little secret
it's the Organic ******* with the timing...

The Heart of the Woman
Whose heart has been broken a
thousand and one times
pain of heartaches, dream destroyed

She remembers, he forgets
the heart became so,
dark as the African night sky
She was scare of the dark,
she was afraid to love again.

Suddenly, like a flower the heart slowly unfold like a rose.
The heart of the woman loves again.

Serious talk
The morning service was about
Taking one day at a time
and forget your worries
While the piles of backlog unpaid bills bow
in the letter rack, the bill collectors calling
every hours of the day using those 1 800 numbers

And there I was standing by the kitchen sink,
doing the dishes from the night before:

while I pondered about the ambulance bill,
the credit card bill, so many *******  bills,
If I was to drop dead today,
Who would pay those bills?
Who would wash those dishes?

So I took out my small *** from under the counter,
And filled it up with water and gently turned on the stove
I began to cook my favorite porridge,
Oatmeal mixed with saga
I clean down the kitchen counter,
I gather my thoughts, I became the cookie poet of the month
while i munches on my words

Learn from yesterday, live for today, hope for tomorrow.
The important thing is not to stop questioning. Quote:
As I continued to stir the mixture together on the stove top
I kept thinking about the homeless people

Less worries, no bill, no bill collectors, no
Letters rack, just the last car on the last train track
And a sign that read do you have any loose change?

When I was little,  I used to think that
If I climbed a tall ladder I would reach the sky,
as I grew  up that ladder seems like a steep cliff .

Here I am still dreaming about .
far away places this morning,
but tonight I shall write the best potential poem about
the ladder, the sky, and the steep cliff.
when I was little, I used to think like a pirate.
Now, I am a poet.

When my heart returns in the seclusion,

I told him to give me ten years,

In that time, he must see only me

Taste only me, make love to only me

Reflected only in my space.

Like an enchanted mirror or hope,

Our souls will continue to asked

For our morning blessing/

Happy or sad, our morning salutations/

There is nothing more appealing  

Then seeing him in his white attires

a baseball cap, it captures the youth of innocent,  

Is the fundament of falling in love,  

After being in seclusion, it's also terrifying,  

A roller coaster of emotion,  

a mere Smily hideous gestures/

I can see no wrong now,

I can see no flaws,  

I see only what my heart wants me to see

Him, those eyes, those high cheek bones,

While I let me let my soul make love,

Under the warm of the sun,

And the cold from the north,

Entwining into each other’s arms

Who will bless this union?

Who will be there for us,

When it all fade like leaf

All of us have become like one who is unclean, and all our righteous acts are like filthy rags; we all shrivel up like a leaf, and like the wind our sins sweep us away.

Let me love you for now,

Let me smile, while you smile,

Let me , let me, let me..

Sometimes when we touch
The honesty too much, Dan Hill
Honest and sympathetic approach
to this ongoing question
Do I or do you still love them?

I remember when I said
I love Him, for me, the words came out so easily
that glowing blush, that healthy  warm feeling,

Now our love stand still like
The curtain on my window sill
So decorative, those simple details

Come hell or high waters
It's my love for him, it’s changing,
My words seem so cold, so bold,
Oh! my dear, Oh my love

Sometimes when we touch
The honesty too much;*
Thank you so much Dan Hill
Now everything is so clear in my heart

a peaceful morning
the poets harmonizing
poetry on demand

Beyond the sales tactics
I listen to the voice of the liars
Loud in pitch, high with the verbs
I need to be alone, with my thoughts,
Mind control,

The demon is a liar. He will lie to confuse us;
but he will also mix lies with the truth to attack us.
His attack is psychological, Damien. And powerful.”
― William Peter Blatty,

I want to mastered my own mind,
To deal with the universe and it’s allied:
How can one reason with someone
Who have lost everything?
Own your feelings or the situation owns you: quote
And do remember, it's not advertising; its mind control”

If you are a dreamer come in
If you are a dreamer a wisher a liar
A hoper a pray-er a magic-bean-buyer
If you’re a pretender com sit by my fire
For we have some flax golden tales to spin
Come in!
Come in!”
― Shel Silverstein

If I am a dreamer let me dream
Because you couldn’t dream big
Don’t awake me: let me save my pillow face
Too many ideas, jumping from one to the another idea
Sometimes, it feel like I am holding a snowball in my hands in the middle of July it dripping, it’s melting,

It searching for ten degree weather:
Dream further than beyond your height:

A bird does not sing because it has an answer; it sings because it has a song.


Chinese proverb

Again, you welcome us with tragedy
With Cold, windy stormy winter blues
The unpredictability of lakes and pond ice,
Becomes every fisherman’s worst nightmare

A dead robin outside my bedroom window
Highlight the day. As the high wind
  Slammed against the lids of the city dumpsters
it was so loud it was deafening

Here I am the last cookie poet to enter eagerly into the new-year
With a different perspective, eagerly rehearsing my thoughts
  Before my poem trail off to believers or non-believers alike

You will not ******* away like the north wind
Every line you shall follow by scanning each undusted I’s
I am the poet to unknown regions stray
carrying words of wisdom,
but do bear in mind

*It's easy to cheer when victory's near

i decided  that love meant nothing to me
did my research, had my share of rejection
took the wrong path, almost

Allowed Satanism to enter my life:
it felt like i was seeking,  seeking, seeking
but i always whispered  ,
my God is real, my God is real
he is real in my heart, 
 I felt the pinch of a pin,
my knees buckle under, and i kept on saying
what the ****,  what was i doing ,
my God is real
how did i end up in a place, like that :

as i  reflected, i came to this conclusion that it was for love
love for us, love for the family, love for the union.
But, surely it wasn’t,
I  never truly experience love,
Or toe curling ******:  only burning pain,
I decided that love meant nothing to me,

Did my research, had my share of rejection,
Took the wrong path,
almost sign into the Satanism camp
Seeking, looking for something, lost love,
Many winters, spring,
summer fall and back to autumn
Still no peace within,
love meant nothing to me

It was hope that lifts me up;
I had asked  God  for only one thing
And that was to dry my tears, and lesson my fears,
Somedays, i felt like screaming, when loneliness
Tries to get me down:  
then i remember that love means
Nothing to me…..



,

*** within marriage is pleasurable,
even, if he had six wives,
so why was Henry VIII displeased?

Madness!!

It’s the little things we pondered the most
When hitting the ceiling
But we tried it in silence
Allowing the good times to simmer

It is easier for a father to have children than for children to have a real father. – Pope John XXIII

Do people still blanket their walls with pictures

Of family members, framed and hanging like draperies

When I walk in my living room,  

I see a lonely couch, a 55-inch television

And memories of people who once lived there:

Sometimes I smile, sometimes I pondered,  

Sometimes I just want to say,

Where are my children,  

Why am I alone, then I smiled and speak?

It's good to be alone, with my poems, my thoughts

And my broken table, the one which she broke

After sitting on top of it. While chatting on the phone



I wondered if the years would change like Tik Tok video clips

Like a new outfit, with a clap of the hands


To grow old is to lose everything?

Yes, or no? But the worse part ..

Is when you work your whole life

And nothing to show, that **** per say

Just old memories, and piled of bills

What have the years thought us,

Never take nothing for granted:

Never put all your eggs in one basket

Never, allowed the bank to control, your

Pennies and dimes, never lend money to your friends

Keep your personal business, bottled:

Passion had finally erased my calm, (quote)
I look toward the long stretch of beach in coney Island
The couple walking the boardwalk, I visualize that it was us on the island of Barbados, walking, bare feet on the sand
And only space between us, was a little cool breeze.
You can bring the vitality back at any age,
I wonder if you would kiss me on my forehead
Before reaching for my pouty lips,
I wonder if you would whisper my name before you
Reach for my breast, these things might mean nothing
To you, but to me, it said, we are ready,
I wonder if you find a seashell, and
Place it next to my face, and jokingly
Say to me. She sells seashells at the seashore
In response I would jokingly say
“To avoid having *** with her Johns!
I am sure, I am sure! I am Sure!
Passion had finally erased my calm
But being there with you, it would be my lucky charm.

Reading a good poem silences you. ..it make you think.  It also prepares you for death. .

Now my hands buried
In my pant, my hair all mated
Resting on my warm:
In the back of my head
"The ***** is an altar, and the ***** hairs are the flames upon the altar."(quote)
resting on my warm...was your imaginary hands,
Your notification startles me
A cold bed, noisy neighbors
And all I want was you.....

You are my one and only desire,
I crave for your body to connect  with my soul
Your heart, and yours only yours(quotes)

July 8th, 2022, I fly over the cuckoo’s nest

Here I am today with you feeding my addiction
this admiration without love is the fruit of reflection

Your values, my custom, and my abilities to comprehend:
One day you will search through the lonely earth for me,
However, would I be there
,
Would I at the moment in time care?
My library card is overdue/ or it my libido (😊
Don’t make me beg, don’t make me cheat

My friends said to me,
The sweetest lips deserve a kiss
But whom am I to ask for this (quote)Pj.)
My true confession of a low sX.s .s drive, chick.

Secrets

Having left my thought in years they
Continues to **** with my body the canvas
Staring down the saddest moments of my life
Is my imagination getting ahead of me?

When, I was a child, I free a bird from tangle cords
Does its offspring, remember me?
Has the bird taught them anything about mortal pain?
especially ,not to build their nest in low pear trees

Secrets, continue to haunt my body the canvas
Every fortnight, when my soul seem to be at rest
Interrupting my dreams, with updates off past event

Not so hidden memories anymore, optimizing my life like an app
Like tiny dots of nested blackheads
Tiptoe to the surface, from deep within
Fighting to survive, just to be seen before sudden death

I shall pluck you secrets, from your darkest place
Without leaving a trail of blood on my body of canvas

The weirdest sound came from my own voice
I telling him that I was afraid of the water, his teasing voice
Made the sound of the waves rush to shore

And there I was terrify, with the fear of drowning
While trying to be the brave female goddess  
My long wet hair looks flawless at the moment in time
And there we were enjoying the four level of happiness on that day.
  That was the day when we forget about the worldly things that enslaves us with guilt:

Him and me we made a breakthrough, his genuine smile
and I with my nervous laugh
Our persona shine brighter than any lost diamond in the white sand

we were upbeat, like any other loving couple on the island
as the relaxing sound of the waves electrify us into peaceful pebbles

We made love with our eyes; we tally up the score with our hearts
We officially went from being friends to lovers.

The morning sun appears showing us
Who is the star of the day?
It shows it power, until the rain
Comes out to play:

It sends a message to the evening shadow
Asking of it to confuse the night,
With diamond shape stars,
and moonlight and magnolias trails,
Light up the sky with star lights

We need the light, more than the dark
But we need both the sun and the rain
Said the weather man from sandy lane:
But who one needs the icy snow,
That one has to go:
It reveals it hatred just like the evil Snow Queen
So each morning  as you wake, think of how
The morning sun appears showing us
Who is the star of the day?

##“If you want to be reminded of the love of the Lord, just watch the sunrise.” ##
― Jeannette Walls, Half Broke Horses

The things we grow tired of were the same things
we once love and adore, in our relationships
Their faces, their smell and their voices
What a turned off: what a misconstruction
these little things turn out to be....

I leant upon the cold iron prop
On the subway flat form: suddenly,
my thought turn to this movie from the 80s
About a little boy name Alfie
Whose tongue got caught on the frozen lamp pole
During a daring rush trend:
Winter months can be so brutal

Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not;
and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad.”
― Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Winter Depression, / a seasonal S.A.D
In the mist of all this: I saw a small bird
Rumbling through the garbage looking for food
His dotted feathers caught my attention
Perhaps not all birds fly south for the winter after all:
Homeless birds seek shelter with homeless humans
Without the small outdoor wood fires:

The beautiful landscape we once admired is blanket with snow
The roar of the winds and the surging of water;
It wasn’t a pretty sight to see with my watery eyes

We cried out to our God for a little relief
But most of all we keep praying for safety
I fell on my **** trying to step over a bank of snow
Luckily I didn’t land on my face
The humiliation and the botherations of dealing,
this kind of weather year after year:

we just have to bear in mind that
Winter begins on the winter solstice and ends on the spring equinox.
The roses will bloom again, the tulips with rise again in April
And we will determine which one is the morning dew
And which one is not the icicle dripping:

......................................................­...................................
Prayer for autumn and winter days
I’ve just rediscovered this beautiful prayer from belief.net. I know it’s now winter and the title is Prayer For Autumn Days, AND I’m not crazier than usual, it is still appropria…
sparklesandangels.wordpress.com

A proud look, a lying tongue, and hands that shed innocent blood,
Oh heart, oh heart, my heart that burn with desires
When would you learn, when would you stop lusting
My wicked burning desires, you will destroy me
He never woos me, he never made love to you
Yet he seems to control my ever moods
Dracula, had drawn my blood before,
The viper had tortured my soul, now he is dead
Tomorrow will be the death of his passing,
Today, I am feuding with his spirits, whom he transferred
Into the body of another, whom I thought had rescues me from
The darkness of my depression, did I want to achieved this
Kind of happiness, or did I just want to feel his manhood
Between the thighs, and his lips on my breast, and
And hour or two would have predicted the rest.
Communication is supposed to be the key,
He removed the key from the rack
And once again, I am on hold,
Loose lips will always sink ship
I will never, make excuses for my outspokenness,
If I, do it will only weaking me,
But I know, that one and one always equal two.
What can he bring to the table,
Dead love, I need to know why me.
The shame, the pain, and mostly this game:
Love me or leave me. I have to stop running.
Here we go again, breaking up,
The good will always outweigh the bad.

You know that your are awesome when the fellows whistle at you
However, you know you got it going on. When a blind man say to you honey
“Honey your perfume says a lot about you: you speak volume. Quote :Annie Lander

How to make yourself happy
compose a poem
and called it poetry,

let your inspiration comes
from that day, that time, that hour

when you felt sad:
then whisper to yourself
Good, golly miss molly
I can breathe again:

Death came too soon:
To be precise on a Saturday afternoon
it ended or did it not?

To all who knew her felt the pain?
But what lead up to that hour: was a crying shame
Her eyes were full of life
Her heart bled for her offspring
Right up to her last dying breath
It ***** to keep a secret,
Jealousy is a disease, fear is mind killer
a killer was on the loose.

Two deaths, two stories
Double sins, double tragedy
But, oh, the feeling she left behind,
The questions, no answers, so little time to reflect
Humanity is sickened by one horrific headline after another
I wondered who is going to be next:
I trust my life to an earthquake more than to any lover
Raged like rough sea, against the salty rocks,
Holding on like sea ***** never letting go,

1 Corinthians 15:54, 55:
“Death is swallowed up in victory.
O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?”

To the one they left behind,
To the one who weep at the open graves,
To the one who silently stood by?
And never give a helping hand,

To the ones who knew these kind of persons
And stay silent: isolation is also a killer;
To the ones who grieves and respond to loss
A mother who loss her daughter:
Two death, two untold stories..

Long distance relationships do not rely on physical love, long distance relationships are driven by the love that inspires your heart, mind and soul.”
― Anonymous