Merely a ghost in the blue void,
flesh and blood kissed the lighthouse as
the silhouette of her beloved ship greeted her.
Yet stripped of his graze, she crumbled,
as guided by her vehement yearning and
cloaked in her gleam, he sailed closer,
but faded in the horizon forever.

poetry & spontaneity,
are one in the same,
each piece its own,
spinning wheels on different days,
reminiscent of springtime rain.

It would be good just to have a child-faith, even in a playful time in the Garden of Timelessness, just a little bit to understand a little to understand the absolute references of the Kitin soul. Or maybe it would be better for Robinson's shipwreck to survive forever, who would rather escape the country of dreams because he dreads the wolf trap of reality?!

It would be good to drop every duty jacket once and for all; The thirty-six-hour verb-robot burden, which not only carries a harsh body of the body, carrying lead-in-the-scrubs, but also an office public official is at least as fed up with the small campaigns of constant chopping. The slightly confusing life drive, which has been closed in lines, is extinguished by the misery of everyday life.

The equalized voltage contradictions will wake up, then tense to each other, even under a careless moment or a lost sigh-era: Is it worth it?! Only the next transient time can only be done. - The tree of wisdom, free thoughts, as well as other insignificant so -called. Freedoms no longer grow by themselves, because "some" first sprinkled the land of common sense and intellect with salt and later acidic acids, which made almost everyone at the time of the brain.

It would often be better to have a total disappointment, because then the wise man would no longer be able to trust his mere coincidence to the otherwise uncertain fate or the forces of invisible doom.

Moccan in my soul is a hundred thousand years where China says s Juang si. It would be better to put my head down, like ostrich birds permanently. After all, a little creation or creation is already trapped - just so - on halfway. The vapor of a silent stuttering, which is multiplied by the number of stuttering, is panting: how and how to carry on, if a well-ringed, pre-planned plan has passed through, or is it a left-wing ladder of fate?!

The minutes of the pockets have long been sold to the wealthier stroma frenys and money-people, that they only own the possibilities, procurement and tenders only; They themselves are increasingly noticed now that they are increasingly able to mimic the petty joyful dariders of their greedy selfishness.

Perhaps nowadays, silent witnesses, or forced to listen, have been fled, and they wanted to testify, because they could secretly realize that almost nothing could change here, but everything was dilapidated or permanently ruined. - The Peace Promenade is less and less possible to find or find it, as everyone is in the interest of selfish-worsening. Silent cavities are in the depths of the tin can-souls empty ...

There are often arguments and counter -arguments in the volume of the lungs, because they cannot be proven; Things and situations are less and less exhausted, and they do not accept the good friend or the beggar of the bark. Rust scent on garbage waste!

I would often take my own destiny; What I once thought could not own, and maybe it can't really be mine anymore. As a hesitant, lame, ***** person, I would just look at how many more ways I have to do to survive they could get along. The man, whom others looked at, spit on, exploited, as if to start slowly, disappear in the retina of staring mirrors, with a bending waist, tormented shoulders, which often carried atlas burdens, instead of others, if not. The squeaky sand grains of existence are their gears - so they often get crazy.

I was just forced to rotate a potted number; Say, do I admit the true, wounded word, which God really hurts, because the dog is not very attentive to patience, through-fear-I would be a mistake to chew on the Hungarian Ugar-pendant, where the average is taboo-til and cannot be.

To the core, my visceral stigma heart only shapes me, shapes me, and with step-by-step tools, I have a hard time squeezing in, raising my head; The pain of disappointments, handshakes, creatures is no longer pilling, but I prefer to be warned, too suspicious and too careful at three steps away.

All of my hesitant moves turn back to me when life is about to me, and while my cumbersome, ship -wrapped days, on the barren, rushes past me, even the deserved happiness, and I can feel a little human.

Like the rootless tree, which is forced to tolerate its harsh fate, the screams of ruthless, ruthless fierce windstorms, and the emerald-green scaly foliage; My drooling, sickly organs whine; Permanent hypertension and hypertension are infected. I've been forced to carry the absolute treasure of the facts for a while!

Childhood should have been gentle and clean until possible. The gloomy, deliberately dark nights can hardly bring comfort to the souls. Street lamps, neon lights, alley -smelling winds, their teeth were carved into all of our vulnerable meat when playgrounds offered people a symbolic gift instead of idyllic peace in the age of idyllic peace.

Rather, we deliberately crossed the many distressing cradle of decades; When was it easier to survive and bearable to the born tuna indifference?! With the universe, immortal fulfillment, only the cheap consolation of our ******* body, because emotions seemed to be deliberately empty and became a dirt.

In vain we could have wanted to understand the hangman time plowing deep hind legs on our face, which rather takes away, but gives nothing in return, it depends and passes only according to our relative reality. -We have been stuck here in a barren, or maybe most eternal children, who hasn't forgotten for sure that he had once had a nursery that had a Jojo, a whirlwind, Moncsicsi, Lego, and Matchbox color switching cars in the military order.

Where were the beautiful times that were left, when we could feel that everything was much simpler and clearer because there were no obscure, unclear questions and answers?! Many times it would be so good if we were eternally comforted by the everyday vicissitudes of reality, and someone would be pushed away! It would be good if someone who is comforted in our lives!

cry,
cry yourself a river.
maybe then, you'll finally have a reason to build a bridge
and get over it.