#beuatiful
do you say a word
every time a woman met her husband
looked at his eyes and stayed for a word
he didn't say it, as he has got tired
he went asleep without saying that word
except good night and morning may be good
the woman was pretty, the woman was young
the woman wanted to be heard, she wanted to be fold
when she went a walk, one comes along
he was strange he had a bad heart
his heart filled with hate, his heart like an art
extracting by devil extracting by hard
now the angel went away and the devil brought
the strange went in a hurry and he looked
at her face with an only big smile
he said to her one, two, three, all words
how attractive are you? Why aren't you touched?
How are you walking on foot? you must ride!
Inexpensive car, or high-rank plane in its ride
If they were not, you must ride
A good horse spread wide
If it was not that, you must ride
A strong camel wearing a beautiful dress
Its colors gain from your cheeks red in appearance
And green as yours, the shinning of your eyes
And yellow in above as your hair colors
If it was not there, you must ride
A man who carried you without any pain
He can travel with you, felt with again
Happy, strong eager and you would be his woman
Come with me and you would be heard another
The woman lost her mind, the woman appeared another
The woman had not seen, a strange in her thought
As she heard what she wanted for a time she went blind
She obeyed him and let him ride
They took his car, it was not unlike
Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 2:11 AM UTC
Mostly, I gaze upon the fields and see dead grass and falling trees
With branches reaching toward the sky in a sort of outward plea
Begging not to be condemned this day
Yet winter comes anyway
And the world becomes gray
For the most part, my world is gray
My vision full of its hues where dormant nature lay
Dark and dim and cold to the touch
Like stone statues crumbling down, collecting dust
And for a time, I think to myself
That spring will never arrive
That the warming sun will never shine
And color will never thrive
For a time I believe
All I have is all I see
Dusky days stuck by thorns
Eternal gray, eternal scorn
But, alas, the buttercups appear
Never distant, always near
Creating pink painted prairies
And vibrant stippled hills buzzing with little fairies
In a manner much like Van Gogh
Streaks of holding hands and blushing cheeks' glow
And I think to myself
If we have nothing else
How powerful a symbol Mother Nature truly is
Whispering a message I cannot miss
That after such tragedy
Life can take root again
Vibrant, like a melody
Nov 14, 2018
Nov 14, 2018 at 1:24 PM UTC