I put my
in the fridge.
Or is it just me?
I close my eyes sometimes and smell those summery days long gone but such wonderful memories that
still remembering one such time Helen dressed a lovely summer dress walking hand In hand over the back fields behind our house
had my arm around her waist but naughty boy
slap my on wrist decided to get adventurous lowering my hand on to Helen's
all a sudden I felt what was like an electric shock on taking my hand away there was an enormous honey bee right the middle of my
I quickly brushed away and then had to remove the sting which was still pumping
It had obviously been attracted to Helen's perfume but the moral of the story don't presume to
Naughty boy I was putting my hand in Helen's bottom and paid the price with a sting from huge honey bee
A real win
is getting out more than you put in.
So, why do I go on and on looking for a return?
It seems I’ll never learn
that winning is endless
and makes a fool of us all.
You are the tailor
The storm and the desire
Today the head from my Buddha broke off
And I realized
We'll never find peace after a hard fall.
Here I am again taking a walk through my thoughts,
And somehow always end up going down a path that leads to you.
I guess it’s because you’re a part of me, the same as my skin and bones.
I love you in ways I only have heard of in books, and only thought was possible in fairytales.
You call to me like home calls to a sailor long at sea.
I can’t wait to be home.
Home is with you on a cold winter day.
I’m almost there.
I don't need a mansion house
Nor any riches in this world.
I don't need knowledge
Nor any wisdom in this world.
I don't need fake love
Nor pirated copy of love.
I don't need new clothes
Nor classy dresses.
All those things are passing by
And they are nothing in this life.
All I need was Christ my God
Cause in Him I have life.
What do I do with all those material little things that I have if I don't have God in my heart?
My fingers are soft as snow,
and my heart is tender like the sea.
If you dissect me you’d see,
I am weak.
You’d try to,
bleed me out dry,
and try to remake me,
Heal me head to toe,
pulling glass shards out of my soul.
Restitch me piece by piece,
glue the parts back into me.
Then maybe you’d believe me when I say,
“It’s so hard to pull myself together when I fall apart.”
One piece after the other
I'll break myself apart
and fill your empty spaces