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Nov 2018
I'm grateful,
Something bad,
Like all the wisdom,
I never had.

I'm heedless,
No more time,
To make them understand,
Through the rhyme,

I'm heedless,
Blurt them out,
All the sacred teachings,
What their about:

God like a cancer grows.
Upon the thought of what he knows,
Above Nirvana yet below,
Wherever nothing tends to go.
A crying child in the snow,
A speeding car quickly slows,
A smiling woman in meadows,
The emotions I shall bestow.
Sketcher
Written by
Sketcher  18/M/Blaine, Washington
(18/M/Blaine, Washington)   
168
   Sketcher
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