"converts" poems
Inside the drainage basin
Bounding my soul
Fluid dynamics
Condense
Phases of water
Gather in the
Mountain towers
Over time
Gravity plus precipitation
Converts
Into snow pack
Come spring
That snow pack
Braids it's way down the mountain
Co-mingling with groundwater
Bubbling up in springs
Gathering momentum
In mountain streams
A constant conversion from
Potential to kinematic
Energy
Streams make their
Way into prairie rivers
Meandering along
Through riparian pockets
Of biodiversity
Reaching a levee
Then breaching
Local, national, and international boundaries
Are no match
As my soul
Finds it's way to base level
In the ocean of your love
Oct 30, 2014
Oct 30, 2014 at 7:15 AM UTC
The saga in her eyes converts into a
Constant downpour soon after
She realizes her freedom from the spell of the dark witch,
The curse had turned her a prisoner in the evil witch's body.
What land – what sea – what wind...
All my life now seems her story.
"Kind sailor thank thee for freeing me."
Her words reverberate throughout,
What wind - what land - what sea,
Everywhere is her presence as I can see,
The wind whispers her name in my ear,
Since a long long time now all I wear,
Is her scent in my immortalized memory.
***"Will you stay with me forever, or,
Will you go back to the heavens?"***
Though I really wanted her to stay,
I love her and realize what she felt,
I offered her freedom and a choice,
I was not binding her to me in turn,
Everything was instinctive from me.
She seemed in a serious dilemma,
Struggling hard she was in herself,
I again offered & insisted this time,
"It's better to go back to your world,"
But I knew that she loved me a lot,
She tried hard controlling but said,
"I am in love with you since long."
So I am quite right that she loves me,
I am sure even she can forget me not,
Beading all our memories together,
I now know how I can gain salvation,
Not being another self-centric tantric,
***"But you don't belong here, dear,
You shouldn't torture yourself for a mortal."***
After this, she now looks comfortable & composed,
Ready for making a choice she wore a heart of stone,
Her lips slowly parted revealing a perfect smile,
Pearly smile again ensured me of permanent happiness,
Bright eyes and shiny eyelids of hers seemed so good,
***"You can't make me stay away because you love me too,
I will keep coming in your dreams and entice your nights."***
But I wanted her in my real-world now,
I prevented her from vanishing again,
I said, ***"Please stay, now do not go away,
Because I really can not bear that pain,"***
She had almost vanished by then,
Listening to my words she chose to wait,
She said, "Even I want forever to stay."
Continuing with her divine dialogue she said,
"Say those golden words to make me stay,"
I immediately confessed, "I love you, Angel,"
"Say you love me too, oh my divine Angel,"
She didn't wait for anything more to say it,
"I love you too, oh my kind & loving sailor,"
Her powers soon left her in a flash of light.
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 5:27 AM UTC
I live in the wilderness
The Sun shines on the trees and through the leaves
Warmth envelopes my sanctuary
Until darkness approaches like a fog
The darkness is pregnant with sounds
I hear animals snarling while bones are breaking
Whimpers turn into blood curdling gargles
As the darkness renders invisibility among predators
And the darkness engenders vulnerability among prey
I desperately want to help but there is a darkness barricade
The darkness follows everything
The darkness swallows everything
I can hear planes crash
And the passengers scream
From within the darkness
I can only see muzzle flash
And the barrel's steam
Creating hardship
The darkness converts men to shouts of agony and rage
The darkness blinds us from the writing on the page
The darkness makes us believe
That it's our reprieve
Darkness has us in it's sight
When we choose to live in light
Even when we do what is right
Darkness takes flight
Becoming our plight
We try to fight back with futility
The darkness' bite has more utility
We are engulfed by negativity
As we lose all connectivity
And our mouths begin to foam
When the darkness is our home
Oct 13, 2017
Oct 13, 2017 at 3:03 AM UTC
My lips can no longer hold back.
The muted tones cannot bring out the infinity that hides
discretely
points
to an exit sign.
Certainty waves goodbye. My only function now is to collapse it.
To put the past behind.
The barred doors allow the bottleneck to tighten for a few hours,
but memory has a way of sounding the alarm in the morning
when the early birds rise,
armed with ancient lessons
that remind me they're the ones who are eating well.
I want to come up from the dirt and drink from the well.
My low-life self can no longer heed the worm's advice:
"Sleep all day and you won't get eaten."
Out.
Out with your tepid voice and halfway disposition.
Out with your elevated mind, your profound commitment to the mediocre task
of enlightening the little people.
The empire you fabricate may stay stitched for a while.
But the clothes of emperors always burst at the seams.
A workaholic, addicted to the common
you're winning your converts with tired dreams, vicarious imaginings of those finer roads, well tread by shoes that are not your own.
You don't believe in the masses. Fine. But get the **** off
your throne.
Reciting badly drawn poems at four in the morning
(it could have been worse e.g. I could have wrote "mourning")
looking to insight myself,
not into a passionate frenzy
like Bacchae drunk on the moonlight.
No -- I want piercing red. That's what I want to be.
Want to show the heavens how I use the precious wine.
Sip it.
Out the undulations go.
Sweating out the great myth that time forgets when it flows.
My pagan-witch ego has put me on the hunt for blood tonight,
and the full moon is giving rise to ****** undulations,
washing up teeny-book explanations
of loves once lost.
But I'm far from my being,
and from the infinite ocean.
And the only sound I can hear right now is my one hand clapping at the curtain call,
retiring my broom,
bowing goodbye.
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 12:23 AM UTC
White Noise Static
Hot Haze Humid
Heat Lightning
condensation
compression
******
Peace comma
be still
wait
written
analog interference converts
2 digital Binaries
on shhh off
finished? Thank God
For Today,
close the book.
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 8:02 AM UTC
My eyes are beyond polluted
By the overflowing inanities
That paint wordless post-mortems
On yesterday's lost fantasies
Rolling over lifeless as dead certains
When obligations fall into disrepair
And the king of all invocations
Awaits power sitting in an electric chair
As darkness shrouds the uninspired
In triumphant ticker tape parades
While the bewildered beast becomes the feast
A million glasses in toast are raised
To the jesters unequivocally blasphemous proposal
To the queen of all frustrated converts
Who Once Upon a Time willingly surrendered
To the impresario pretender
Who fooled the world by laying siege on the empty house of cards
And with all the power granted
By the grace of obscenities triumphant screams
Separating me from reality by infiltrating my failing vision
With the polluted overflowing inanities of these cellophane dreams
Sep 21, 2016
Sep 21, 2016 at 4:39 AM UTC
I see you
I've seen those eyes before
Drowning in patched-up paddle boats
With promises of tomorrow slipping down your face
Like saline shipwrecks fleeing harbor
And greeting the ocean floor with damaged handshakes
And now you're hopeless
Focused on could have been's and maybe one day's
Knowing one day
Swelled up storm clouds
Could slide through your cheek bones
Like sunshowers preventing your skyline parades
But I see you still searching for rainbows
Covering your face with two handfuls of imagination
Daydreaming of days where technicolor dreamcoats
Become wrapped around your soul
Like tuxedos for the bold
I've seen those arms before
Deafeated willow branches in the moonlight
Rebellious to rise upright
And now you're tired
Only fired up when your flesh
Converts to kindling on a campfire
Building sparks that shimmer for seconds
When your light deserves a lifetime
But I see you still inclined to shine brightly
Trying to assign meaning to your life with two inspired limbs
That can freely build bridges or climb mountaintops
Clinging onto hope with sturdy fists
Exploring the peaks of your potential
I've seen those legs before
Tattered toothpicks on prom night
Frozen in stage fright on the dance floor
Pressing muted prayers with each footstep
Into creaky floorboards waiting for silence to ensue
And now you're nervous
You're certain those two left feet can't possibly find the rhythm
So your shoes are the victims of bashfulness
Fearing one false step will uproot your jitterbugs
And place them alongside the butterflies in your stomach
But I see you still owning your insecurities
Because you know you're alive just fine
I see you
You are who I envisioned you to be
I see you
Brushstrokes of imperfections shaded in perfectly
I see you
It's more than just your typical hello
It's a phrase for all of us to speak solely with our souls
It can make you feel at home at the center of your bones
When all your hope is lost and there's no where left to go
So when I greet you
Listen carefully
This is a reminder that your eyes can be thunderous
Your arms can be victorious
And your legs can be ambitious
Your presence is necessary for this discussion
And your essence is accepted here
Let me speak your spirit into existence
Seeing is believing
And believe me
I see you
Jan 16, 2014
Jan 16, 2014 at 3:26 PM UTC
I tripped and fell into temptation
The hole was exceptionally deep
The futher that I fell
the deeper I would sink
I built stairs
that were made up of all colors of lies
But the more that I made
the top was never nye
But the hole was much deeper
than all the stairways made to Heaven
I needed a friend to save me
one who converts sin into salvation
from bread that must be unleavened
Jan 10, 2017
Jan 10, 2017 at 2:51 AM UTC
I have used up all my tokens
and squandered all my pardons;
all that’s left is tarnished pyrite
and a jewellery box for two.
For I will tear your heart out
and feed it to the coyotes;
you may be the one for me,
but I’m no good for you.
As the field runs crimson
I’ll proceed to crack your spirit.
I know that this is foolish,
but love - this is all I know.
If the moon would make a bargain
on the dust that seals up fractures,
I would strip my backbone
reaching out to make it so;
I would mend each tiny crevice
- plant hydrangeas in the darkness,
but without a new foundation
it is all still frail and makeshift;
and each compounding weight is
all crushed-guts and shattered-statements.
Again we’re set a whirling;
we can’t recognize our faces.
The strongest tree is only paper
and my convoluted nature
is just a fallacy I’ve built to house,
my fear of what is true.
So, we’ll dance until our knees split,
you’ll repeat that we’re a unit
and as I kick the chair out
choke a final, “i love You.”
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Amidst staggered breaths
my fragile frame converts to dust.
Oak entombs the ashen ruins
of a long awaited
Us.
Aug 11, 2011
Aug 11, 2011 at 6:43 PM UTC
when I catches of you in I’s mind
at once I converts to a cloud in the sky
because I knows a cloud is no different than you
a basketball bounces to draw the boundaries of a back yard
a bearer space made of sounds of a game
cloud is such a temporary vessel
carrying you’s finiteness
or I’s desire of home coming
distances in between disqualify
exemplifying all I ness outside
you becomes I
May 18, 2015
May 18, 2015 at 7:39 PM UTC
During discussion with key-board
through internet messenger,
Love sleeps on the bench like a pet
beside the purple-green footpath.
Sharing violet feelings via e-mail,
million megabytes of stamina downloads
And converts instantly smiling-heart
into jpg format to attach with the mail.
Cyber love navigates on cool wave
as a kite walking slowly
On the bluish velvet sky
above a land of beckoning jade-dreams.
Poem 07
Book 'Beckoning Jade-Dreams' April 2007
Copyright Musharrat Mahjabeen
Mizan Publishers, Dhaka, Bangladesh
ISBN 984-8700-82-X
Aug 16, 2012
Aug 16, 2012 at 1:58 AM UTC
*With elegance,
A Wordsmith interprets
In the exquisite,
Timeless language
Of poetry,
Delicately composing
Beautiful words
Into elaborate sonatas,
Each rendition A graceful,
Classical symphony.
With beauty and intensity,
Full of raw emotions,
Each wordsmith
Extracts their most inner-feelings
And intricately converts them
Into rhythmical compositions.
And this
Is the only fluent language
Their soul is able to speak...
Each sonata they release,
With wings,
Is individually mastered,
Impeccable, and unique.
May each Wordsmith
Never miss a beat,
And continue writing,
With poetic justice,
Their heart's rhythm
On every sheet.
***
By Lady R.F. (C)2017*
Jul 22, 2017
Jul 22, 2017 at 10:56 PM UTC
The anger doesn't go away
No one makes the anger what it is
It's just something that has always been there
The energy of the universe
Unable to be created or destroyed
As dictated by the first law of thermodynamics
So it is
So it changes
So it converts between people
Anger projected and harnessed
And eventually a build up of anger so big
Released so violently in a human reaction
It's always there and it's always in me
Just a potential anger so easily triggered by the surrounding world
They call me short tempered, but really
I am an exergonic reaction
Spontaneous with a small amount of activation energy
To release my anger onto the world around me
Leaving me drained of energy until more potential stores within me
Like it always does
Nov 1, 2013
Nov 1, 2013 at 7:42 PM UTC
my god, you embody admirable beauty
you replenish all the good when my world is crashing
with waves so persistent these rocks must remember
the importance they leave when the tide begins to fall
i'm dying to know, has this sand always been so white?
i find peace in the piles my car is collecting
i beam at the worlds these rocks are collecting
communal homes, no fighting; just beauty
my pale limbs get lost in sand so white
shortly revealing themselves as waves come crashing
sometimes i stand on that rugged pier and i fall
awaiting the swallow of the sea, forgetting what i shouldn't remember
here, the wind is always changing, it will never remember
these impeding worries I've been collecting
it may not be strong enough to catch my fall
but it floods my lungs with beauty
for a moment i feel this high is crashing
a seagull grooms his messy feathers, searching for the white
i tell the gull he's beautiful, despite his lack of white
he distracts me from what i shouldn't remember
in taking flight, i envy his crashing
colliding with the water at such height, i grasp the shells I've been collecting
i notice the tide receding from its path, revealing more beauty
tripping over sand, i race to the pier for one last fall
i attempt to leave but the oceans current begs for another fall
the powdery sand on shore grabs me by the ankles and i'm glowing white
i am flattered by this playful behavior, i'm grateful for its beauty
with you, my dear, my peace of mind is all you must remember
rest assured i will never abandon the memories we are collecting
for it is you, i run to when my world is crashing
i swiftly dodge the sudden rain so violently crashing
in a dreamy state, i observe the drops as they fall
still, my shoes are soaked from where water insisted on collecting
in my rear view i see the sand converts to mud and is no longer white
it doesn't matter though, its not the way i'll remember
a storm could never retract genuine beauty
recounting the days moments, drenched in beauty, i feel my body crashing
time is limited when trying to remember as my eyelids fall
white sand is all i see and i'm buried beneath the pillows I've been collecting
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 1:36 AM UTC
Dogma and doctrine only hide the Truth
that is our birthright since the time of youth.
We have all been led to believe the lies
which the authorities show to our eyes.
The passage of time often does the rest
and makes sure curiosity fails the test
to uncover the truth that's been hidden
by all this dogma and doctrine ridden.
Ignorance is a strong, powerful force
that stalls investigations in due coarse
when people begin to suspect the wrong
they have been subjected to all along.
Authorities try to keep their power
with the dogma and doctrine they shower
onto the people who look up to them
quelling the light of truth that they condemn.
Nowhere else does this happen as often
but in religious faith which can soften
the hearts and minds of people to believe
that something else is just there to deceive.
A sad case of the blind leading the blind
which is one of the follies of mankind
who are led to believe what they're given
is the truth being like victims driven.
This doesn't mean that something else is true
unless it has been proven so by you;
through personal experience that stays
in your heart or mind and the doubt allays.
Take for example those few converts who
formed the body of the early church new;
what kind of experience each one had
making them join up and feel very glad.
_________________
Jan 31, 2022
Jan 31, 2022 at 4:29 AM UTC
No one has a monopoly on God.
When you hear them say that they do,
Make a dash for it! Don't wait around
For them to impose their merciless coup.
No group has a monopoly on truth.
Of those who say they "know" be skeptical.
If their "knowledge" can't stand up to questioning,
Their mind isn't more than an empty receptacle.
Terror and fear make desperate converts.
Truth and wisdom transcend petty goals.
Some will try to sell you a bill
Of goods that's full of vagaries and holes.
Beware of those with the gift of gab
Who promise to guide you down a path
Of slick salvation and tempting allurements,
Though one false step incurs God's wrath.
Beware of those who say they know
The mind of God both inside and out
And curse your attempts at inquiry
When with an open mind you doubt.
No one has the right to judge you
And tell you that you're going to hell.
Watch out for the crazed fanatic
And the sanctimonious ne'r-do-well.
Put everything into perspective.
Love and compassion should be your course.
Belief should be all about choice
And definitely not a product of force.
- by Bob B
Oct 28, 2016
Oct 28, 2016 at 9:17 AM UTC
Burn me up
Burn me down
I feel like all I ever do is drown
Concave throat straining against acidic salt water sizzle
Ghost swim in my vision
Ethereal and non-committed, I'll never break through
An anvil weighs heavy on an already heaving chest
My struggles won't last long now
Great depths are unforgiving, waves barrel and crash above me
I can see stripes of sunlight cutting through murky layers of gray and blue
Pieces of wrEckage descend around me but nothing to latch on to
Spreading blackness like octopus ink converts knowledge to fear
Fluttering response of muscle, I no longer have the strength to fight
Numb. Unconscious.
Floating softly to the ocean floor
Where I will be part of you always
Jul 17, 2012
Jul 17, 2012 at 6:10 PM UTC
A Mass Inversion.
I have lived to witness an Apple
become a juggernaut
see the followers nod their heads in belief,
walking segregated on the streets
unaware of their own worship.
We have not yet realized
that the largest religion in the world
is no longer faith based,
technophiles fill our rural
and metro quintessential sprawl.
Their numbers swell
and burgeon with new converts
that give funding rank and file,
whom are taught to know indulgence
in name only, mistaking desire for need.
This technology based obsession
is without age or gender restrictions,
without race distinction,
it asks not for ethics,
pride,
morality,
intelligence or privacy.
It is all-consuming
just as any ideology-
as any religion,
answering the same fervent questions,
demanding tribute and changing the way you think.
-
The View Outside.
Among the whole, the slow mass conversion,
there is occasional dissension,
some who glorify a golden era or fill with nostalgia
for something they may not have even experienced,
an immaterial escapism of the present
furthered by a childish inability to accept ephemerality
and our irregular morality.
Sometimes amid this denial,
this abstaining,
there is a seed of anger that grows with gnarled roots
that twist throughout with nary a cry or shout.
It is a quiet anger,
unconditional and baseless but for an intensity,
a burning sense of being wronged,
an infection that spreads without exception.
And when your self-righteous halo eventually slips to catch
in your now flapping jaw,
your anger will fade as you choke on hard etched resolve.
Dec 21, 2010
Dec 21, 2010 at 9:29 AM UTC
wish for a wish
?
no.
not this time.
fireworks -
before dawn
they too
need none
I like it more
when
skies are mine
no. I am yours
can you be one?
first time – last time?
eye to eye with a lone star
guided by a mantra
Lokah Samasta
…
Oh bike
do take me home
please
under a plum tree
or make one
for me
in the sky
upside down
fruitless winter branches!
are these same as the shape of your roots?
allow me then
to plant us in the blue
where that star shines
thrue
a galactic bulge
pulls me inside a spheroid
and centers
to where breath runs
along colorful lines
I sleep - I dream
I am awake
a white dove
to doves
doves to pitpat s
as if snow
a heavenly scent
flourishes curlicue bells
the unwished
converts the gloom
returns a gift
made of
the glowing yearning
of a phleum
for a new morning sky
made of a bloom
gifted
to us
by
Bloom.
Jan 2, 2015
Jan 2, 2015 at 11:03 AM UTC
The train goes rattling down the track
A trail of smoke is at your back.
A spot of soot may close your eye,
To miss the gums as they fly by.
The porter shouts "All tickets please",
To check that all have paid their fees,
The engine driver blows his whistle,
As the view converts to thistle.
Out on the verandah the children play,
"Come inside", the parents say.
From the windows they hang around,
Not a care is to be found.
Traveling onward 'round the bends,
A joyous journey with our friends.
Then at last our stop we reach;
Hooray! Hooray! It is the beach.
Eric Rodda 1996
Aug 21, 2014
Aug 21, 2014 at 7:11 PM UTC
When percentage grows up,
A decripit-scale converts into percentile,
They don't check how much you knew anymore,
They check how many others you defeated in competition.
When you grew up the measure you knew as percentage became percentile,
Yes meaner, deadlier & stingier measure percentage became when it grew up as percentile.
Dec 17, 2012
Dec 17, 2012 at 1:29 AM UTC
coffee house is a place where you doubtlessly see all the people being swept away in an invisible connection you can not see--sometimes, there are also some people who get caught in discussion and stuck by diffusion. the coffee that you drink often converts you its energy to analize your life's difficult problematics.
coffee house is a place where you will genuinely feel sane if you see some people reading their own scripts or feel well-earned if you witness the self-interested people--where they hear their own tunes just for themselves, where they do not want to give you the same opportunity for joining them in thrilling your cochlear, even through the air filled with whiff of vapour. vapour which doesn't comprise the fumes of nicotine, but there is just a little amount of caffeine in its womb. however, vapour is vapour. it has its ability to serve you an effect to crave which oftenly makes yourself lose its excuse to refuse.
coffee house, is a place for the people who are looking for identities. coffee house is made for the people who keep analizing the layer by layer of their lives, for the ones who keep hunting the nucleus of your providence's atom, for the people who keep ripping apart their particles. not dalton, neither rutherford, nor thomson, not even bohr, as the ones who might be able to serve you a soup of theory which if you eat it, you might be enlightened and your life might suddenly be well explained. the chaos of your life can not simply be explained that way.
coffee house is a place where you will find the lonely people whose lives will always be tossed around, the people who keep glorifying the fumes of caffeine that can hit you back to the point where you can be boiled by new hopes. and it remains that way all the time.
coffee house is a place for them who are hurt and diseased, but feel like hospitals are not the right house to canalize their moans. precisely, they will find their house here.
in a coffee house, you will learn to be yourself, and you will never find the lesson at all schools.
in a coffee house, you learn how to admit your predestination as the Audience of Lives.
coffee house is a place where you will always find your own cinema seat.
Stefan Sagala,
February 4th 2017.
Jun 26, 2017
Jun 26, 2017 at 1:35 AM UTC
Your very presence does to me,
the inexplicable.
I watch you shyly.
You, walkin' like a lady.
in smokin' yoga pants.
Lately rocking only sweats.
I swear you had a beard one day.
I want to approach you, eager, and say:
"I like it. Please take me away."
Confines stunt now and wilt my insides
when I simply chance a glance at mirrors.
Why would I stay here when I'm unwelcome?
These ******* confines wilt me and
will **** me someday, much faster then the
cancer I'd like.
Can't get you out of my head,
thrashin' nightly in my bed.
Who the fuck's to say I can't live the way
I see myself deeply, inside out?
But then I dream about the toilets.
I still dream about the tension.
How do you walk so tall
and split the difference when you're broke as ****
Morally bankrupt, hunting pennies to pay your sins?
Is this line you walk
the brittle back of safety, or
is this line that's been drawn
the fear of native captives
waiting for spit?
I like it so much I'd even meet you
on your worst day just knowing
I could be the god I am,
without definition,
**** and lying on grass.
The tears of gender on my bed sheets,
too tired of the run to get up.
I'll inter myself, to ******* rise anew,
no obligations outside of love,
and if it makes old love boil in blood,
then,
****
Mar 28, 2015
Mar 28, 2015 at 11:44 PM UTC
I live alone
in a room
my only friend
a rock plant.
*
A vase made of sighs,
converts **** non-audible AIs
to an unknown hymn,
replaces a half broken arm.
or was that a dream
during a harvest time?
or was that a gift
from a dear one?
*
I live alone
beside a window under skies
in a vase
made of colorful spots
my only friend
a girl
meditates in the room somewhere.
*
She, my sole flower
is a shape of a pink heart.
Her subtle transparent edge
glows my petal of gleam,
filters a beam,
and makes a rainbow kite.
*
My leaves, center her single dream,
carry a code of a parabolic green.
*
At dawn, she sings a love song,
invites all the blues of skies.
At dusk, she migrates them towards tones of nights.
A dot sinks within the brightests of stars
and finally
into my heart of hearts.
*
She collects then pure droplets
from a precipitating river - crossing unknown realms
in which of each
every season
a silver moon blossoms
to reflect a blue-green star,
she ultimately waits for:
‘That one!’ she shouts
deepening her pinks,
beating rapidly,
shaking my photosynthetic organs
‘There... we come from!
from the dancing, shapeshifter one!’
She, my only friend is a dreamer for none.
A dream of dreams about an unknown realm.
A girl with big words,
‘Someday’ she says ‘Someday,
when we be one as a timeless time but
I hold a key of Now from you for now
as much as I am of you,
Love will be a technology then for all - as is
then we be of love and One’.
‘but for now’ I say ‘for now’
‘at least, be my only one’
and I dream…
dream about a shape of the moment of that very someday
when she finally understands
and ‘yes that blessed someday’ I say,
and as usual nod and tune my stem.
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 4:43 AM UTC
Carbon dioxide
Beauty & wisdom
The moon
Sun converts moon
Heart converts ears
Love converts woman’s head
Into food for the birds
Devil smiles as you lick
An ice cream cone
Love is the color blue
An ocean away from another
A sky away from yourself
Land is the color red
For pain
And green for life
Amidst this pain
Only are we at peace
In the pink an orange womb
Dec 27, 2011
Dec 27, 2011 at 7:22 PM UTC