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thomas-bron-mukamaPoems
One who cares not to count How much is spent The care comes for the Present day. Yesterday Vanishes like water Poured onto the soil. Anything pleasant to the Eyes will be attempted Better to sacrifice a soul Inorder to purchase Declining glory. Feasting on a daily Like the future exists not. Nothing matters but only What they have at hand Ready to sale human kindness And grind the bones For the daily pleasure. Matters of the flesh Their question is Why care for a soul that You have never seen or touched. What I have now is for this time What comes after Will matter while am there To spend, rob, **** for satisfaction.
0
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 9:50 AM UTC
Living By Flesh
One who cares not to count How much is spent The care comes for the Present day. Yesterday Vanishes like water Poured onto the soil. Anything pleasant to the Eyes will be attempted Better to sacrifice a soul Inorder to purchase Declining glory. Feasting on a daily Like the future exists not. Nothing matters but only What they have at hand Ready to sale human kindness And grind the bones For the daily pleasure. Matters of the flesh Their question is Why care for a soul that You have never seen or touched. What I have now is for this time What comes after Will matter while am there To spend, rob, **** for satisfaction.
thomas-bron-mukama
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thomas-bron-mukama
34/M
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 9:50 AM UTC
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