Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
"deliberations" poems
Prolog: Foreplay opens with an aphrodisiac dubbed the mind caressing private chambers with passion, over time words stimulating nerve-endings for the ideal tease like the skin dripping of honey from the nectar of bees exploiting the fragrances of scented oils and balms or maybe vib’ing lyrics inducing a seductive calm compelling forces bombard the intellectual’s sanity as the proximity of the blackhole distorts humanity Love’s Play: Costars entwine heated bodies for love’s embrace as moments become endless as vectors of subspace sporadic movements take the form of blissful spasms while the players combine to mold a single plasm ringing chimes fulfill the awareness with sensations too diverse to classify for logical deliberations yet finally, the mountaintop of cliffs can be reached where there is no retreat and no return from its breach Epilog: Aftermath closes basking from the physical exertion as two kindred spirits epitomize timeless insertion gazing deeply into the abyss of the partner’s soul only to find comfort and compassion ruling the role can this be the earthly heaven that one truly beholds written in the historic words as the heavens foretold feelings ignite once again burning deeply within opening yet another intriguing act, one must attend.
0
Feb 9, 2017
Feb 9, 2017 at 10:06 AM UTC
Love’s Play
You feel you're invincible being that your sanity is uncontrollable strolling around with your shoulders past the birds past the planes your ignorance succeeds in innumerable ways your sight is weak your mind is enable to capture it's buried under life's adversities and Earth's pleasure you don't know when to stop so you flood yourself until you're lame at your ankles and paralyzed in your emotions you wend through life this way well you try stuck in misery with no lane to merge frustration is your best friend a human is impossible and incapable of the acceptance your belittlement draws mankind away no one wants to attend a pity party unless their accompanied to your VIP and to reserve you are the one to RSVP Enlighten heads will stray away pessimism is a curse rapidly spread by the weak you have distress and frustration suppressed strangled screams holds your eyelids open at night deliberations controls your emotions controls your feet throughout the day you are terrified of tangibility so you indulge yourself excessively burying your true identity becoming irritable when bearing your sober mind if only you knew how divine you are you would grow to love yourself in ways incompetent of how you could love so hard look yourself in your eyes find who you are even if you have to savagely search you'll see the soul people has grown to love so much you'll notice your beauty that covers endless realms or your strength that could hurl a boulder No one can help you discover your destiny it's your journey you'll have to make alone but during the expedition and constant footsteps the process of elimination could be your guide find your inner child it can help your prevail that's where you once had happiness your joy was established there because if you continue the silencing of your heart's cries and your soul's screams you'll live a life analogous to hell and that is a nightmare's worst dream                 Copy Right 2014                      ©Patty Ann
0
Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 1:18 PM UTC
A Pessimistic Penny
You feel you're invincible being that your sanity is uncontrollable strolling around with your shoulders past the birds past the planes your ignorance succeeds in innumerable ways your sight is weak your mind is enable to capture it's buried under life's adversities and Earth's pleasure you don't know when to stop so you flood yourself until you're lame at your ankles and paralyzed in your emotions you wend through life this way well you try stuck in misery with no lane to merge frustration is your best friend a human is impossible and incapable of the acceptance your belittlement draws mankind away no one wants to attend a pity party unless their accompanied to your VIP and to reserve you are the one to RSVP Enlighten heads will stray away pessimism is a curse rapidly spread by the weak you have distress and frustration suppressed strangled screams holds your eyelids open at night deliberations controls your emotions controls your feet throughout the day you are terrified of tangibility so you indulge yourself excessively burying your true identity becoming irritable when bearing your sober mind if only you knew how divine you are you would grow to love yourself in ways incompetent of how you could love so hard look yourself in your eyes find who you are even if you have to savagely search you'll see the soul people has grown to love so much you'll notice your beauty that covers endless realms or your strength that could hurl a boulder No one can help you discover your destiny it's your journey you'll have to make alone but during the expedition and constant footsteps the process of elimination could be your guide find your inner child it can help your prevail that's where you once had happiness your joy was established there because if you continue the silencing of your heart's cries and your soul's screams you'll live a life analogous to hell and that is a nightmare's worst dream                 Copy Right 2014                      ©Patty Ann
Continue reading...
65
She was always a chameleon soul Black Orchid Eyes, shadows, vulnerabilities Of heroine chic, Juxtaposed with an embracing Self Of mutual weirdness Meshing voices from The past Nostalgic memories for Behind the camera A lady photographed A younger self, Mirrored reflections of The lady she had graced Into through the Ages, Where contemplative deliberations Iconic wonders, flashed through Her mind With each click the metamorphosis Click;         one                 two                         three Twiggy, Edie, Kate Transformations; a sorcerers magic, Contradictions;                         body                                   mind                                             soul Mirages amidst reincarnations Never a remnant of the same For, the lady behind the lens Unseen A ghost veiled in black; The Black Orchid. © Sia Jane Dedicated & written for my darling friend Cara <3 For she shall know love <3
0
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 11:36 AM UTC
Black Orchid
On the night At the very early morn The moon had already risen Just as a broken gaseous no more sleeps Somehow, somewhere, a beast trapped, released No longer is it trapped to the confines of its prison Eyes that survey Salivating, wanting, A prompt to its hunger Its nostril’s pleasure: my scents Under a crack of dim, creaming crescent The uncensored scene of my slumber The conditions, possibilities, a setting made right for the empty A glimmer of hope or just the fangs bared for the bark or biting Once started, the urge, its selfishness to one else, it’ll never lend The craving has begun; the questionable realism of this game of pretend A shadowy figure, upon a pair of feet; yours, no, mine, it lurks in the dark Countless moments to lose the count of, time is held still Longer and longer, in continuous moments that shows no signs of breaking Once I had the warming presence of the body of mine besides me, only to be replaced “A story’s not to be finished without the satisfaction it gives,” is all I find All we have seen, the sweet smell of lovely dreams still dancing feverously like visions of my mind Darkness lies beside me, wanting you, cannot be unseen: the ****** features being without a face What’s gotten is what’s to be deserved: deliberations of the disease that festers the fabric of my thoughts, I pay no mind At this point, my reality sinks in, run-on sentences roles across the virtual plane called your screen. Unable to break away from the unrecognizable creature that lies before me, I lose contact with the senses, my nerves have no feeling The beauty of it all is the art, the science, I love the way how it consumes me, growing over me, light glinting off its fangs still bared I remember now, I know it, we’ve talked about it before, it calls itself Sherman, our sleep paralysis demon, still I feel the need to be scared My lovely dreams, he feeds off of, the hunger within, in him, is never satisfied, no matter how many times he tried, he didn’t stop, just enough to make me void, light blinds me, my soul is fleeing. On the morn, At the surpassed night My heartbeat pends Eternally I sleep, at peace Those who know me weep For my plotless reality never ends
0
Feb 11, 2020
Feb 11, 2020 at 6:57 AM UTC
Sherman
On the night At the very early morn The moon had already risen Just as a broken gaseous no more sleeps Somehow, somewhere, a beast trapped, released No longer is it trapped to the confines of its prison Eyes that survey Salivating, wanting, A prompt to its hunger Its nostril’s pleasure: my scents Under a crack of dim, creaming crescent The uncensored scene of my slumber The conditions, possibilities, a setting made right for the empty A glimmer of hope or just the fangs bared for the bark or biting Once started, the urge, its selfishness to one else, it’ll never lend The craving has begun; the questionable realism of this game of pretend A shadowy figure, upon a pair of feet; yours, no, mine, it lurks in the dark Countless moments to lose the count of, time is held still Longer and longer, in continuous moments that shows no signs of breaking Once I had the warming presence of the body of mine besides me, only to be replaced “A story’s not to be finished without the satisfaction it gives,” is all I find All we have seen, the sweet smell of lovely dreams still dancing feverously like visions of my mind Darkness lies beside me, wanting you, cannot be unseen: the ****** features being without a face What’s gotten is what’s to be deserved: deliberations of the disease that festers the fabric of my thoughts, I pay no mind At this point, my reality sinks in, run-on sentences roles across the virtual plane called your screen. Unable to break away from the unrecognizable creature that lies before me, I lose contact with the senses, my nerves have no feeling The beauty of it all is the art, the science, I love the way how it consumes me, growing over me, light glinting off its fangs still bared I remember now, I know it, we’ve talked about it before, it calls itself Sherman, our sleep paralysis demon, still I feel the need to be scared My lovely dreams, he feeds off of, the hunger within, in him, is never satisfied, no matter how many times he tried, he didn’t stop, just enough to make me void, light blinds me, my soul is fleeing. On the morn, At the surpassed night My heartbeat pends Eternally I sleep, at peace Those who know me weep For my plotless reality never ends
Continue reading...
35
“A demagogue, in the strict signification of the word, is a 'leader of the rabble'.”                         — James Fenimore Cooper, "On Demagogues" a political leader who seeks support by appealing to popular desires & prejudices rather than by using rational argument; A demagogue or rabble-rouser is a leader in a democracy who gains popularity by exploiting prejudice & ignorance among the common people, whipping up the passions of the crowd & shutting down reasoned deliberations; rabble-rouser, agitator, political agitator, soapbox orator, firebrand, fomenter, provocateur "he was drawn into a circle of campus demagogues" Only in ancient Greece and Rome was it a leader or orator who espoused the cause of the common people; demagogues overturn established customs of political conduct, or promise or threaten to do so; demagogues have appeared in democracies since ancient Athens. They exploit a fundamental weakness in democracy: because ultimate power is held by the people, it is possible for the people to give that power to someone who appeals   to the lowest common denominator of a large segment of the population; demagogues usually advocate immediate, forceful action to address a national crisis while accusing moderate & thoughtful opponents                                        of weakness or disloyalty
0
Sep 1, 2018
Sep 1, 2018 at 7:44 PM UTC
On Demagogues 2018
I am sick of poetry— its useless, meaningless strings of words elegantly dressed in profound tailored suits of gaudy fabric.                                       Who is this who speaks against the soul—                                       ignorant and foolish, deriding the gem                                       of thoughts vibrantly propounded into motley lines of literary art? Ha! Literary art? Similes are like a bad joke, alliterations are agitating, personification ***** and, hyperboles are more horrid than death                                       Poems are not simply stanzas of well-contrived writing                                       Of fanciful sentences stretching the mind.                                       Each letter spells purpose,                                       Then in the right lighting                                       Reads entirely different                                       Yet still masterfully designed It is simplicity secreted beneath heaps of perplexity and effortless rhyme, bombastic diction contorting the most puerile of deliberations into virtuosity— two-dimensional make-up of verbiage— flinging arbitrary words and lines left              and                     right Christmas The entire concept is ludicrous.                                                              A                                                          rhyme                                                     goes deeper                                                   than its sound,                                                            and                                                    a single word                                             normally goes deeper                                          than its context suggests.                                                      A random                                               notion may not be                                       as arbitrary an idea as one                                                      primarily                                                       assumes                                                        it to be.                                       Nothing is simple about it. Roses are red Violets are blue Just like I said It’s easy to do.                                                         ******                                                         Hypocrite                                                         Misled                                                         Piece of ****                                                         Ignorant                                                         Foolish fiend                                                         Virulent                                                         Philistine                                                         Infantile                                                         Aberrant                                                         Juvenile                                                         Miscreant! True poetry at last! Stripped down to pure emotion A lovely middle finger manicured just right The quintessence of feeling etched with furious care Thought and emotion woven together to make an unlikely masterpiece And so it is discovered: the marriage of two conflicting entities can and will engender beauty.
0
Dec 3, 2011
Dec 3, 2011 at 2:40 AM UTC
The Debate
I am sick of poetry— its useless, meaningless strings of words elegantly dressed in profound tailored suits of gaudy fabric.                                       Who is this who speaks against the soul—                                       ignorant and foolish, deriding the gem                                       of thoughts vibrantly propounded into motley lines of literary art? Ha! Literary art? Similes are like a bad joke, alliterations are agitating, personification ***** and, hyperboles are more horrid than death                                       Poems are not simply stanzas of well-contrived writing                                       Of fanciful sentences stretching the mind.                                       Each letter spells purpose,                                       Then in the right lighting                                       Reads entirely different                                       Yet still masterfully designed It is simplicity secreted beneath heaps of perplexity and effortless rhyme, bombastic diction contorting the most puerile of deliberations into virtuosity— two-dimensional make-up of verbiage— flinging arbitrary words and lines left              and                     right Christmas The entire concept is ludicrous.                                                              A                                                          rhyme                                                     goes deeper                                                   than its sound,                                                            and                                                    a single word                                             normally goes deeper                                          than its context suggests.                                                      A random                                               notion may not be                                       as arbitrary an idea as one                                                      primarily                                                       assumes                                                        it to be.                                       Nothing is simple about it. Roses are red Violets are blue Just like I said It’s easy to do.                                                         ******                                                         Hypocrite                                                         Misled                                                         Piece of ****                                                         Ignorant                                                         Foolish fiend                                                         Virulent                                                         Philistine                                                         Infantile                                                         Aberrant                                                         Juvenile                                                         Miscreant! True poetry at last! Stripped down to pure emotion A lovely middle finger manicured just right The quintessence of feeling etched with furious care Thought and emotion woven together to make an unlikely masterpiece And so it is discovered: the marriage of two conflicting entities can and will engender beauty.
Continue reading...
67
after four decades of protracted debate as to where to locate a second airport our federal government has finally made a decision to go ahead with the construction of the airport they've not been overly speedy in their deliberations on the matter all the public has ever heard is an endless stream of chatter now the memorandum of understanding for its location has been signed off we the citizens of New South Wales can't wait for a jet plane to take off the existing airport terminal is becoming more and more congested by the day and a second airport facility will sweep all the clogging away we're mightily pleased that the government have got moving on the airports location now the flying public of our state shall afford them a rousing ovation
0
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 10:04 PM UTC
Rousing Ovation
Standing alone to face all allegations I am victim of vicious deliberations In the darkness I can't see destination This is how I celebrate my incarnation Love has taken all my life and death In state its difficult to take the breath My life is at stake and what life hath Do I see truth or nothing else but myth Pain has sapped all my ability,intellect I am no more if you ask stance in fact I have no choice just to select or elect I am in trance my love being in the pact My Lord is savior under circumstances Only He can give many more chances So I hoot care whatever the instances How can I lose in the positive responses Col Muhammad Khalid Khan Copyright 2016 Golden Glow
0
Sep 23, 2016
Sep 23, 2016 at 12:21 PM UTC
Positive Responses
Stay silent or speak, Glide past everything Or get Stuck with stigma Over originality Keep silent and observe Or Jump in Get stuck in a fire storm. Two friends, Past arguments. Stress I don’t need. Maybe I’m a coward. I see both possible sides, Always surprised How vicious people Get over simple things. Make changes, Compromise, Behave like adults. Don’t ruin this for more people. Please. Not jumping in the tide will not acknowledge these things probably never will.
0
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 2:13 AM UTC
Deliberations
musing on pondering, cogitating on ruminating, postulating on speculating, considering multiple theories, deeming the discrepancies deniable positing the petty presumptions, theorizing multiple condsiderations, apraising the mediations, digesting the deliberations, allowing for freefall meditation, envisioning the expectations, presuming the pontifications, anticipating the asumptions, comprehending the conclusion, accrediting the rationalizations, concluding the comprehesion, spinning synaptic wheels, hypothesizing the conjecture, recollecting of the reminiscence, adumbrating the prognostigcation, concocting of the subliminate, masticating on the cereberal machinations, of the ocillations, in the agitatation, apparent, in an insomniac's maniacal brain, reckoning not, on the simple summation, of the night's wayward, mental arbitratration, there is... just too much time, to think.... and far too little time to write....
0
Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 7:15 PM UTC
snap of the synapse
I felt the edge of my nightmare, grasping to the subconscious worries that were clinging like venomous fangs delving inwards. Dreams were a potato peeler on the different skins that were pealed from my normality to what turned metaphorical hairs white, I screamed in high definition of speechlessness. Have you ever woken to find that the reflection of what was coherent within your diluted dreams had clung to your eyelids? Escaping the dreamscape of illusion and collecting into the tear ducts of deliberations connecting eclipses of reality that was a mirage of what I conceived in both verses.   I had awoken in momentary seclusion, short lived like a verse of a haiku that versed much but bleed more than it had versed. I was a paradox of complexity, my tribulations were collecting in lagoons of reality about to burst. I was immersed in a mirage of impulses and needed to visualize. I felt the edge of my nightmare, and it penetrated like satin fissures on my delicately woven reflections. Those that stared back upon me, expressing their intentions. We are a motion of luminosity and twilight and our dreams weave a thin line that lingers in our dreams..
0
Mar 31, 2017
Mar 31, 2017 at 4:15 PM UTC
"I Felt The Edge Of My Nightmare......."
I'm young and in love with disjointed sentences mosaic symbols transforming deliberations into expository railroad tracks, crossing paths (with) black jazz cats in the 20's to write the music a little differently for each note, to ride a little Titanic eye contact until Earhart makes it home. Compress these highs and lows, into melodic notes, dancing up (and down) the Christmas tree, ornaments from the time you were only three. Days before we met, days beyond our starry-eyed goodbye, Love is a gentle thing, and you were such the words I'd pray to whisper in the night, on beaches made of all your favorite colors. I want to be the way you see me, I hope you never feel alone. And what a treasure it was, to speak with the princess, instead of staring at the castle. Soft cheeks instead of hard stone, (cold glass, icy masks, distant hopes.) But instead of distant, You were close.
0
Dec 5, 2017
Dec 5, 2017 at 3:31 PM UTC
For Natalie
The sporadic and spastic Deliberations Of chance encounters On busy streets Haunt my dreams Like a raindrop in a well A mile wide And a mile deep Rippling across As I spin myself Seeking contentment beneath the sheets Begging to make sense Of the surreality To take something tangible From thoughts that barely exist Waking in time To just miss my breath And worlds spiral back Into nothingness
0
Mar 5, 2010
Mar 5, 2010 at 2:37 PM UTC
Grasping for Sunlight
We don't play dumb because it's not a game and truly very lame. We don't play blind because a few wants those eyes but if you want to, then pay the price. We don't play tease because we're not dumb nor blind of the truths that's here. But if I change my mind I guess it's still and will always be a NO. I'd build up defenses with no words to throw. All the obvious has been laid. Haply stories has to be said. So this is the battle I should face, to a place where I'd surely leave a trace. If the crowd should understand or if i choose to stay away; I was too weak to speak and say but all the decisions are beyond what I can withstand. I do not hit the blocks just to prove I was right. because deliberations has been truly my everyday fight. What takes me aback is rather the truth. But what scares me more is the possible fruit. Yet the story that never ends seems to be a history that never bends. Now I choose not to be scared. Vincit Omnia Veritas, Amicus.
0
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 1:11 PM UTC
A Matter of Truth
I'm in awe of the hands that move I run freely, carelessly from sight to sight Without coherence without deliberations Yet in an instance, perfection coalesce Wondrous beauty without intent crafted Yet I see all of myself in all its facets A gift of grace, of grace upon grace The ecstasy of ecstasies, the joy of joys
0
Jul 30, 2025
Jul 30, 2025 at 10:27 PM UTC
Freedom
Deliberations are a veil of pigmentation as I see the transparency of every thought. a nebula of ideas woven in view, can you see the curvatures that expand outwards. Bright moments illuminate the surroundings, as reflections are seen as the weave of conciseness exhales in majestic colours. A tapestry of interpretations which is visualized differently by everyone. All is vivid in the lucidity of all ideas that form and coalesce. I could almost reach out and touch this moment of reflection.
0
Jan 15, 2017
Jan 15, 2017 at 5:37 PM UTC
If You Could Veiw The Beauty Of Thought
I've worn the bejeweled crown of a string doll prince worked with innumerable ploys and tricks . Suffered the false admiration of the disingenuous , robbed blind by great thespians .. Left my heart to fend for itself among insatiable howling packs of wolves .. Offered my soul as a stepping stone for ungrateful friends with self centered inclinations and selective memories. Knowingly trained my replacement without thought of vindication , counseled many fair weather associates in their moment of frailty who have long since forgotten my name and disavow any such deliberations. I've repaired plumbing , installed HVAC systems , troubleshooted DIY malfeasance and performed every kind of home repair one could ever dream for free on behalf of family members that wouldn't **** on my burning corpse without charging me a fee !
0
Jan 22, 2016
Jan 22, 2016 at 8:40 PM UTC
Here's to Family and So-Called Friends !!
More often than not my machinations are little more than fragmented ruminations and disjointed alliterations Occasionally preoccupied by rhyme, reason, or cravings for another season Color and light dancing against the doodles left dog-eared among the daily drudgery crowding my deliberations Purposefully thinking my thoughts more thoughtfully in these days of superficiality and commercialized faux reality Deliberate silences budgeted between listless noise. On days when everyone's vying for vocal real estate & everyone's talking with nothing to say.. I take a fast from my voice. I withdraw from myself, deep within my mind.. I attempt to reconcile with that girl I was -forgive myself for letting her leave again. How can I come back to her after what we've been? I've lied to her too many times for her to let me back in.
0
Feb 8, 2018
Feb 8, 2018 at 7:40 PM UTC
Missing Myself
By the thoughts of other's deliberations By relaxed smile in black torment By my song in hearts set free to fly By blind sacrifice in a land of pride By patient consistence in the dry place By your dance of joy I watched, and cried By gritted teath of courage and hope By every step on the path of truth By justice and grace when others turned By heart and will of truth and love By secret honesty and quiet confession By invisible watermark on a paper world By a life spent getting up again By my life I saw in you
0
Apr 7, 2010
Apr 7, 2010 at 11:01 AM UTC
How will I know you?
I sit here on these empty battlements built brick by bitter brick to guard around my heart that most fragile ***** I overlook the battle of my spirit and will only to hear your voice speaking my fears into reality. As I watch one foe turns spectral in form, vanishing in mist. Leaving me dejected, frustrated in my deliberations. Showing me the true nature of this deceit; the most horrible kind that of the Self.
0
May 12, 2010
May 12, 2010 at 7:16 PM UTC
The Moment of Truth
Breath was exhumed from the corpses lingering impressions.    But all were merged beyond                            the futile emotions of the flesh. For where reflections were void,              only true deliberations stigmatized.                                     Everything of before,                that  were psychedelic illusions. Reminiscing of stained windows,                 recently cleansed of the memories of                                                                 yesterday. Only now were remnant fallen dreams buried                    beneath falling stars..                            That crawled like maggots                                                  in the heavens burrowing deeper the more they fell...                 And still though falling, there breath still                                           gasped as death only exhales.
0
Feb 17, 2019
Feb 17, 2019 at 4:50 PM UTC
Death Only Exhales...
before commencing his third poem of the day, to review, reiterate, reorganize his day’s life, and his life’s day, to establish better value, logical priorities, He thinks, better to let woman sleep, as no pressing pressures of  decisions or choices need be made before noon, and another huge mug of coffee seems logical, wise and a prudent next step and no sin needs forgiveness, by the act of sleeping late He’s torn, between readying the coffee machine’s unending needs for water, beans, snd careful waste disposal, shaving a  2 day stubble, and starting his next poem, when he grins stupidly, or stupidly grins, for clearly he has made and an acknowledged decision, certified by a silent exclamation of duh! He reassures, his inner demons that all will be satisfied in no particular order as the day is young and the coffee hot, good and satisfying and he can  type letters without spilling coffee (again),  and the world will be no worse off or improved if he focuses on completing this dirge here then the third poem: life is nothing but an endless series of decisions, many, most, low hanging fruit; ironically, the big ones,, the important one, get made quietly without malice and forethought, by deliberations so quiet they go unnoticed. At Nine o’clock, he will wake the woman, because he’s lonely for company, but wisely will bring her coffee and breakfast in order to soften the blow of his arousing action
0
Feb 2, 2025
Feb 2, 2025 at 8:46 AM UTC
He Pauses,
The sounds of sorrow : soft whimpers under covers late , late on a cold winter's night Low moans of eternal pain that one has tried to turn into  . . ."I forgot" Long wails that are full of fury and devastation as a hurricane's whip cracks The heart that has been kicked and stomped and stabbed to froth Flipping pages of poetry fanning the heat of discourse Long sighs sitting in a swing looking down . . .coughs Hearing what other's think what they say in silence The scrape of a mental shovel digging deeper trying to bury the past Oh ! Of course ! the frustration of deliberations throwing and shattering glass Yelling in a canyon but there are no echoes bouncing back The ******* sound made from a razorblade that is in your mouth and then silence
0
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 12:39 AM UTC
The Sounds of Sorrow
Misplaced deliberations, oh where did I leave you? Like mislaid socks, I wear mismatched thoughts nicely fitting but not right.
0
May 23, 2020
May 23, 2020 at 3:04 PM UTC
Disorientated Moments Of Reflection