"divined" poems
A fitness woman who had a boyfriend who didn’t train
But the love affair that did remain
The fitness woman being named Jennifer who always took care of her body even when she was in her teens
Yet Ted being her boyfriend really didn’t have any interest in exercise
But it was Fitness Jennifer that captivated Ted’s eyes
It wasn’t until Jennifer introduced Ted to a competing male bodybuilder named William
Ted Seemed Ah and noticed all his muscle detail protruding through his T-Shirt of William
Later Ted went home and gave a good thought that maybe he should try exercising and thought about William in giving him guidance
Fitness and muscle running through Ted’s mind
But will it convince Ted to exercise with the thought divined
Well barbells became Ted’s start in train
William who was a competing Bodybuilder to help Ted through various exercises in helping Ted establish his own physique
Well things were on go with the idea of mystique
In a span of two years, Ted now had a muscular physique that he could be proud of, and was thinking about stepping onto the Bodybuilding platform
Well Fitness Jennifer gave Ted all the encouragement he needed
Persuasion became defined into pursue
It was all the encouragement coming from Fitness Jennifer due
Ted stepped on stage for the first time, and was a little nervous, but when the music started and he started to pose, the audience gave a raw of applause and being totally amazed
He was standing next to other Bodybuilders who were more advanced
But Ted saw a vision, and wanted to take a chance
As names were being called out, there was a certain anticipati8on in how Ted did
Yet Ted felt he wasn’t going to win and it was the end
Suddenly Ted’s name was called out in first place
After all that there was no time to waste
Ted proposed to Fitness Jennifer right there on stage
Fitness Jennifer was very surprised and she said yes without any hesitation
The multitudes of applause
Fitness Jennifer and Ted kissed with a cause
Immediately, muscle became two heart shapes
Muscle being true love and the flexing of two doves.
Nov 11, 2015
Nov 11, 2015 at 7:26 PM UTC
"Poetry is confession, obsession, reflection.
Empathic minds, valentines, hope divined.
It's a kiss, whispered sweetly" (2)
who needs challenges, commissions.
kicks~in~le butte~
when heaven heaves rains, one downs tall orders in
short shot glass verses, which glossed over at its
first communion(cation,
come back
months later
to subtract - another
poem from where it lay dormant
on the doormat
of my sub~sub~terranes
of my diluted subconscious au natured dry & rugged terrain
a favored poet,
a secretive admirer,
whoa~whose~her truthful name, I've yet to uncover,
but whose one true soul inspires me repeatedly,
ana~lyrically licks me into
dredging from me
un begrudgingly
and yet,
another love poem,
she herself wrote when elixiring (commentating (3))
'pon one of mine,
a long long time ago
Alas! Alack!
unnaturally immodest,
one concedes,
when obviously a Super~Woman!-cedes,
seeds in three verses, what I could never unknot
nor uncover
so I requite & requote with
unlabored pleasure
miz patty m's
primary terse verse,
neither secondary & never tertiary,
her absolut perfect mixed drink
defining, summarizing,
the essences of love
*"(Love) Poetry is confession, obsession, reflection.
Empathic minds, valentines, hope divined.
It's a kiss, whispered sweetly"*
I concede, in deed,
and in writing,
I know nothing,
of writing
of only love poetry
and all the great predecessors,
elsewhere lyricized, named and tabulated,
by yet another women, (1)
I will take my weary words elsewhere,
and if
perhaps,
disguised as a woman,
(Natalie, Natasha, Natali
see note below)
perhaps my verbal herbal insides,
my turgid insights,
will be shorter, sweeter,
but never more completer
than those of,
who can syncopate it
in rhyme
and the naming of my
predilection,
by mid~initial,
will give a measuring
of solace, and
a kiss and hug from my mirrored selfie,
having been unsuccessful at
my one chosen endeavor,
only love poetry,
adieu,
I, due,
utter
Nevermore
M>
Sep 2, 2025
Sep 2, 2025 at 3:38 PM UTC
I hear a knock upon my door.
Or was it there inside my head, where only ever dread for the things in life I can't obtain remains; No matter how hard I may in one form or another train?
And so I'll sell a piece of my soul yet again; My price of admission to taste love's glory for but a momentary grin.
With you it was so much different.
My heart is still broke, but my real loss is more than conviction.
I lost my heart, my soul, my vision.
A future bleaker than a demonic prediction.
My mind is racing as I try to relax but thoughts of you come rushing back.
I try to close my eyes to snore but there's always a monster lurking behind memory's door.
And as I recalled I saw my cursed fate,
Always here to be here but never to stay.
I'm airport luggage thrown and lost,
Maybe sought another day.
But I'll still love you through any amount of pain.
I've loved before you but never loved in this way: So full of passion and love for who we both are and could be. I'd marry you now and yet I've never stopped you to say that you're such an invaluable friend, and I'm sorry I can't be okay.
I hate that I'm not only jealous but hurt when I shouldn't feel so deeply burnt by the girl that stole my heart; She's so far beyond my worth.
But she came at night and without a knife she took my heart off it's throne in life, and put it kneeling like she had the key. As if some Divine being that, before we had even met, had my heart beat.
Your love for him is clear even from afar,
And so my heart will beat forever subpar.
So confusing are you truly to me.
The one thing I know is you are the one to whom my soul and heart chose to leave me to be.
Maybe heartless and soul-less should go hand in hand? Ripped from the body by something far greater than man.
Something unknowingly more than human, yet divined by human hands.
Ill be content that while I'm still so broke, She can be healed and her love will help her float: And she can finally forgive herself for the wrongs He wrote.
She'll shoulder the pain and strife of life,
With love beside her every night.
I can be okay but never better,
So I write to myself and you all this letter.
I'm high as a kite,
And just as exposed,
I will never not hear the call of my soul.
Depart away so you can hate me,
And close the chapter of my life called meaning.
I want only for you to be whole.
Regardless of cost, repercussion or role.
My love for you will live until dawn rises untouched by Earth's rock.
Yet ever haunting as a ghost who only ever knocks.
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 9:26 PM UTC
Eyes on Ancient times in going back and intriguing the mind
Hercules pillar being his strength
Challenging all odds
A man being his own mode
Hercules strength in conquering evil
Deceit of destruction confined to the Devil
The Greek Gods that sit above
They have spiritual divined powers thereof
The Gladiators have come to attack
But the Greek Gods have Hercules back
The pillars of evil Kingdoms have steadily come down
The rattle of the chains and the demons that remain
Hercules the conquer with the strength of solid bound
A man of force with the lean sound
Hercules stands on a throne with lightening bolts on both sides
The sun casts a shadow with the man of victory
It’s Hercules labours of sustaining history
The mystery of challenges of an unknown tomorrow
The enemy being defeated in sorrow
Hercules legacy with having moral of morrow and eyes keen like a sparrow.
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 5:02 PM UTC
~for better days for the poet betterdays~
mournful tunes play silently, but still too often,
eyes wet but in corners kept, recurring then the
memories, keepsakes, letters, books, small trinkets,
not dusty, but dusky, resting on in-between ledge of a
mountain-sized twilight of well lit shadowy haziness,
edgy dark brilliance, a comprehensible contrast non-comprehendible
tunes that bless with equal measures of grief,
comforting, by memorable card flashes of good relief,
a dividing line, hazy and frequented crossed, a sort of path,
with no destination signaled, as if the path itself was an end,
to a meaning, a solution, with no clarity divined, a division
of sight and insight, providing an ill fitting reconciliation
mourning is electric, morning is electric,
letters, words bottled up in evaporating perfume bottles,
seeking the comfort of dissipation unto a larger atmosphere,
the scent in everything tangible, stronger still yet, in intangibles
that can erode but never ever fail to return instantly when voked,
by vision, odor, a particular child’s smile, line in a poem volunteered
recovered, uncovered, a post first writ to be written, discovered,
when time and place coincidentally breathe together, at last,
beckoning you to places where memory serves only as a pleasuring,
upright mind marker, decorated in chains perpetual reforging,
absent pain, gleaming dreamings full-replacing longings for pasts,
new verses composed, passing, a grand addition to a child’s legacy
May 18, 2019
May 18, 2019 at 8:50 AM UTC
I cooked and cleaned
Some times my employer’s emotions in acting mean
I cried many times knowing I deserve a more fulfilled life
The southern storms with their heavy rains
The adventure in travelling on a freedom train
Leaving all conflict and feeling ******* behind as a remain
Wishing one day my rights to explore and endure
The beauty of my black race and abolish hatred as erase
Let my wisdom right the bells of freedom
Help me make it to that divined kingdom
I pray to God above
He is my everything in the of
Perhaps one day I can overcome feeling weary and tired
I have yet to live and don’t want my time to expire
For right now I will sleep and transform to a night retire
The next morning when I awoke
I turned on the television and I thought was a joke
The Civil Rights of freedom was passed
My prayers were answered at last
It wasn’t a dream, but a reality in believing truth
My heart was filled with joy
All I could say was “Oh Boy”
I took my head and looked up at the clear sky
Thank you Lord for always being wise
I was now free
I quit my maidhood and let God guide me in be
I walked to a new life to where my new horizon will take me
Being directed by the sun and the multitudes in being among.
Mar 9, 2014
Mar 9, 2014 at 4:53 PM UTC
*He is
My Azure Dreambird,
(The Sovereign of Songbirds)
That soars upon
Skies of Resonance.
His sapphire wings
Weightless by valor,
Hallowed every doubt
That
Cursed my shadow
Until credence reigned.
He is
The Musicality of my Soul,
That I climbed as
A stairway
Into
Gates of Aether
Upon
Porcelain keys
Of an impearled
Grand Piano.
His sound emittance
Ascended in frequency until
Pitch became subliminal
For height
ceased to be
Height,
And depth,
Ceased to be
Depth,
It was
Ineffable harmony
And resolution became effortless
With
The touch of his hand.
He is
The Wings of the Dawn,
A Sweeping Rapture
That raised
Me
Beyond the stratosphere
Until graced by
Untarnished embrace
Of the Baptistery of the Sun.
I burst
From Light’s Intemerate Womb,
Renewed and
Gazed upon Terraqueous Gaia
Then for once,
(Yes, for all eternity)
Succumbed to
Faith in the Transcendence
Of his tender affections.
Woe was existence
Before His lightwaves radiated
Within my heart,
For when I purged my pulse
Of that quaking rhythm
And
Hollow cries
Upon his ears,
He stood moved
And remained
Doughty in his devotion
To me.
In that moment
I fathomed his soul
Glistened
O, for he had not forsook me.
I bear a pilgrimage.
One sought to be
Heard,
Seen,
Felt,
Breathed,
And
Divined
By my
Once
Somnolent spirit
Been
Roused
By the incendiary thew of
His ardor.
My revenant soul
Hath emerged from
The Chrysalis of Time as
The Apotheosis of Astral Flame
(A Reverberation of the Cosmo-Plexus of Love)
That since
The Days of Time Immemorial
Guided by the
Whisper of the stars,
I now cleave
To that celestial susurrus:
To the solace buried beneath
The Soil of Afflicition
(For anguish was all I knew)
In repose
Yet yearning to be
Resurrected
In The Dream of Acquisition,
To for eternity behold
The timeless fervor
That doth layeth
In His heart*
Aug 14, 2016
Aug 14, 2016 at 11:52 AM UTC
When she was seven, my grandmother suffered from fever and swollen glands. The doctors believed her tonsils were inflamed, that she needed surgery. Instead, she went to a curandera. The curandera divined that a jealous relative had cast a curse on her and, now, her language of kindness was bound to her throat, the unspoken swelling her glands.
As a child my grandmother spoke to santitos with a voice like a chestnut: ruddy and warm, seeds dropping from her mouth. The santitos would take her words into themselves, her voice growing within them like grapevines.
During the tonsillitis, when the words no longer fell like seeds from her lips, the santito's vineyards of accent and voice grew vapid, dry as a parched mouth. They went to her tongue and asked why silence imprisoned the words of the child, why lumps were present under her chin, why tears drew channels down her cheeks.
I asked my grandmother how her tongue replied. After touching my cheek, she told me she had a dream that night: She was within her lungs and she rose like breath through the moist of her throat. She remembered her tonsils swinging before her like fleshy apples, then a hand taking them into a fist, harvesting their sound. She told me her throat opened in two spots like insect eyes and the names of her children came flying through her wounds like peacocks.
Patting my thigh, she said, "That is why the name of your mother is Maria, because she is a prayer, a song of praise to the Holy Mother."
She told me this, then showed me two scars on her throat—tiny scars, like two eyelids stitched closed.
st - 20 mar 14
Mar 20, 2014
Mar 20, 2014 at 7:52 PM UTC
I wonder where your wonder went--
why you stashed away your wonderment?
for sake of posture pride and pallor
ironic, yes for all the hours
of studying "normative" culture--
of faults and flaws and freedom ruptured
bashing against consumerism
driven
lives
*Your stuff's not as cool as mine
Poor things!
how blind! What empty lives!
Why can't they see the alternative side?
But wait--that's mine! My idea--I divined!
Great spirit told me not to sell half price
and things I buy--of course they're mine
But free trade, bought and paid for
I'm down with the indigenous cause,
I'm no capitalist ***** . . .
But oh my, those pants are nice
and that skirt's lovely, too, I'd love to wear it twice
wait--
Why dothey have those
I'm more hip than them, more
open minded, I'm
Mother Earth's best friend.
or **** at least more hip.
More hotter,
smile and nod, peace and love, yoga **** on my journey I'm farther.
See there! Don't look in my eyes, but
at my size 2 thighs
in this brand new outfit
haters despise . . .*
I guess I'm wondering where your love is,
I digress from my rant, just show me
where the shelf is
that holds your origin story,
lost child,
eyes wide,
mind blown by lights and shiny bits and
new friends' smile and--
BASS vibrating your spine.
Where's the love that widened your mind?
Jul 31, 2013
Jul 31, 2013 at 10:50 PM UTC
by Arcassin Burnham
follow my feelings down the road,
and get decapitated,
he wants to have a smirk on his face,
and he became infatuated,
divined and refined,
i don't want to have this irritation,
zero tolerance aligned,
it creates frustration,
follow me,
follow me,
follow me,
follow me,
follow me,
into my words,
follow me.
Sep 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014 at 1:54 AM UTC
Alone here
Another soliloquy in my head
Only desires live
and the living dead
Alone here
An abyss for company
Only desires live
and the dreams faraway
Million voices swirl
A black hole in a milkyway
They sparkle and shine
While I drift away
Million voices swirl
The Sun and the Moon and the stars
Collide to condense
****** in an apocalypse
Licking their fresh scars
Darkness cuts into the deepest corners
Living off the bright
Out of mind
Out of sight
Alone here
As the fates divined
Dark and Light
Intertwined
Feb 13, 2014
Feb 13, 2014 at 2:07 PM UTC
He wandered along the Pullman car
As if he owned the train,
And wore the badge of ‘Conductor’ and
A whistle on a chain,
He carried a block of tickets that
Were printed differently,
With various towns and places from
The inland to the sea.
He’d walk from behind the driver, from
The front up to the back,
His steps in time to the rhythm of
The train, its clicketty-clack,
He wouldn’t look at the passengers
Unless their eyes were strained,
But then would pause with his ticket block
To see which ones remained.
And then, as if he divined the stress
Each passenger went through,
He’d tear off one of the tickets, as
He would, for me or you,
And suddenly they’d be on a beach
Or resting in some town,
And making love to a red-haired *****
Just as the sun went down.
The train continued its journey with
Its steady clicketty-clack,
The passenger sitting limply with
His eyes, empty and black,
While ever the train’s conductor walked
Along the swaying aisle,
Dispensing the tickets on the block
For mile on endless mile.
Then once at their destination he
Would blow a single note,
Using that tiny whistle hanging
Chained down by his throat,
And all of the passengers would wake,
Their eyes no longer black,
Marvelling at the dreams they’d had
While travelling on that track.
If ever you board that certain train
Be sure to be aware,
And look long at the conductor,
As he walks; No, even stare!
Then if he pauses in front of you
Think where you’d like to be,
And watch as he peels your ticket off,
Your ride to ecstasy.
David Lewis Paget
Nov 18, 2016
Nov 18, 2016 at 4:29 PM UTC
A little girl, sitting by the ocean.
She's quietly listening to the tides.
Making her forget all the commotion.
The sound would take over, thoughts leave through sighs.
As she grew up she searched for that soft tune.
In every little thing that she could find.
Until stars aligned in the afternoon,
And the universe said we were divined.
Love, you remind me of the very thing,
That I adore than most all on the earth.
So it's you to whom I'll be listening.
It's your music that's making my days worth.
Now I stay basking in your soothing waves.
My ocean, promise you'll hold me always.
Dec 30, 2024
Dec 30, 2024 at 10:27 PM UTC
(To Eleonora Duse)
We are anhungered after solitude,
Deep stillness pure of any speech or sound,
Soft quiet hovering over pools profound,
The silences that on the desert brood,
Above a windless hush of empty seas,
The broad unfurling banners of the dawn,
A faery forest where there sleeps a Faun;
Our souls are fain of solitudes like these.
O woman who divined our weariness,
And set the crown of silence on your art,
From what undreamed-of depth within your heart
Have you sent forth the hush that makes us free
To hear an instant, high above earth’s stress,
The silent music of infinity?
1.7k
Poison is humanities water,
For those of sin begin to slaughter.
All in death and hell combined,
no mercy from even those divined.
Destruction awaits no being,
for it is controlled by all who are fiends.
This world we live is ours alone,
so why must I awake and be born.
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 6:29 PM UTC
Free to fail like leaves in winter
His love will only sometimes linger
Like the fall of lovers crush
She'll win them all bare ly out of touch
Held together like ink to paper
Blurred into memory or a colorful sublime
These tears fell like wood forests hole punched and lined
Like a Lamp lit nightstand useful twice a month
Clandestin calamity chorus of wind chimes
Composed
Dually noted measured and fallen in time
Conceived
Dear John's pinned on porcelain; pined
Convexity
Leafs seasoned in carved tree vellum
Divined
Like dried roses smoke & mirrors the mind
May 12, 2016
May 12, 2016 at 1:29 AM UTC
ALL THE IMPORTANT POETS
One day I found all the important poets -
Shakespeare, Bukowski, Dickinson and Rilke
partying in the park drinking Coronas,
feeding pigeons on the green.
Astonished I queried,
"You are all my thought heroes, and yet you laze about.
"Shouldn’t you be writing something famous?"
And they erupted in a literate cacophony of guffaws,
their eyes tearing,
their cheeks shining red with mirth.
Shakespeare turned to me and said,
"Forget it kid !
Meter, metaphor, rhythm and rhyme -
it’s all just groundlessness.
All the adjectives in the world divined just so
only lead to a place in your heart
you’ll never really understand anyway.
It’s simply a mystery, ineffable."
Bukowski tried to ask Rilke about the letters
he'd written to that frustrated young poet,
but he was so drunk on cooking sherry
he could only mumble, gesticulate and grin.
And then sweet Emily said,
"Yes. William is right.
Rainer Marie tried to explain it.
Charles tried to drink into it,
yet it remains the glass bead game -
ungraspable by dearest turn of phrase.
So we have decided to put down our pens
and take a breather."
She quietly handed me the bag of crumbs,
suggesting I toss a few here and there
for the pigeon's lollygagging by.......
"They're hungry, the simple little dears," she said.
Jan 4, 2012
Jan 4, 2012 at 11:19 PM UTC
Her smile is a rush of a syringe; pushing deep within mine arteries, loaded. Her laugh is addictive, sedatation entereth me. I flyeth higher than any dope fix canst get. She hit's fast, quick; as her eye's art chocolate diamond's that hang on star-night string's, shiny, divined Pearl's wrapped in elegant Filipino linen of a queen. O' mine Asian dream, cometh into mine sleep and feeleth me, cometh in: the door's open, none hellion aloud to pass nor enter, just a place for us to swim. Whilst making affectionate confectionery amour' on thy foreign shore's, mantra's shalt be said as both of ourn name's art whispered: the setting sun to be the picture that goeth down as we dont stop the rolling around until dusk.
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl jane nagley ( Filipino rose) dedication
Oct 2, 2015
Oct 2, 2015 at 5:40 AM UTC
Old stars shine on long after life is gone,
Bright lights echoed through voids they leave behind;
Old remnants fade yet still their light lives on.
Born of old dust, born of a mothers son,
Born fated to repeat a mortal grind,
Old stars shine on long after life is gone,
One sparking flame igniting dreams anon,
Defying darkness drawn to drowned the mind;
Old remnants fade yet still their light lives on.
Bright stars that brightly burn oft' seem alone
Where lesser lights eclipsed are hard to find;
Old stars shine on long after life is gone.
Old stars must end when all their days are done,
But light once shone goes on to raze the blind;
Old remnants fade yet still their light lives on.
From dust to dust, from ash to ash, they shone
With fiery hearts fanned by a gift divined:
Old stars shine on long after life is gone,
Old remnants fade yet still their light lives on.
Jan 11, 2016
Jan 11, 2016 at 9:24 PM UTC
Been a while sorry I am behind on reads,
overly buzzed busier reading these;
~Hearts Of All~~
*I Try Might...
With much mightly...*
In My Own
Sorting of
Trance!!!
Dancing In LOVE's
Joyly Fun Seeking
Thine Rightfully
Divined Kiss's
Thine Divine
All Willing
Alrighty
Got
\/
.
.
And
Out of
*Ode Baseless
Fearful Trances
Hypnotic Spell's*
Broken Freed
~Of IT ALL~
Abusively
Already
Leave's
If You
Let It
Be!!
\/
S
o
.
.
\/
.
.
.
This is my remedy need too;
~~Solutions Want Need Of Their Remedies As Much,
As A True Remedy Wants Their Need Of Solutions.~~
More Right Better
Than needing selfishly sought wants any day,
Who How!!!
~One by for one by two of each others just for starters.~
~~Love seeks need always as need is calling of Love too truly!!!~~
Is this not then for each others better of the seeding,
growing than shoving else of each other's else's
~Thine Divine Bliss's off!!!~~
Uprooting and or smothering one way or any other!!
Overly too close to call home to or,
From when more too eerily at all!!!
Nice though so well thee,
WRITE OF ALL!!!
Very Touching Real Deep!!
So well you All Do Speak!!
Now too I am remembering as much as Eye
Try ever to believe how ever tender forgiving,
And understanding can be, be endlessly!!!!!
*It's offensive defensive covering,
Of self hate to hard to conceive,*
That can will to go on in such like ways,
Death walking till blood stops pumping,
~Does not sound like the plan,
That We Inwardly Receive!!~~
*Too many lies from to many partners,
In preference-ing of ganging together,
In our latest smash successes so oft,
Momentary and addictive pleasures.
So shallow freaky speaky creepy as,
Much is dead just above ground!!!*
Oooh ouch!!!
Please!!!
~SELF,
OTHER~~
~FORGIVENESS
BREATHE ~~
\ /
<3<3<3
#&#
:):)
!!!
!!
!
.
.
.
Ty ALL,
\ /
.
.
L
O
V
E
.
.
R
\/
.
.
~Sa Sa~
~Ra~
:):)
:)
Nov 29, 2012
Nov 29, 2012 at 8:01 PM UTC
Einstein refined
Space and time.
Failed to define
Divine Design.
Almost divined
A superior outline:
But the subtleties
Were too sublime.
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 10:00 AM UTC
Down no plains of flowing grass
up no hills of trees that stand
what tips your hat?
where is your flaw?
disillusioned taste
defused for all, mimicked
in the voice of a flower
through hearts of trees, outstretching
complex, limbs hidden
simply facilitated
in common goal, conditioned
used for all;
how do you stand?
quite so tall
in divined obsession
it seems to find all
nurtured and withdrawn
concealed in fixation
no one finds your flaw
for there’s none at all
yet from deception, true love finds all
in this shambled; shrine,
not flawed in design
nurtured from unseen
confronted with existence.
Aug 1, 2016
Aug 1, 2016 at 3:20 AM UTC
someday you will believe. how hard i pushed for you. how much the world woutd be a darker place without you. And even though you don"t believe me, you came to me as i came to you and we changed each other. We needed each other. We divined each other This is a letter to a living soul.You will be alive forever. you have touched me forever, you are touching me now.
Nov 3, 2013
Nov 3, 2013 at 5:49 AM UTC
The bodies of paradise
are the fledglings of humanity--
little chicks
that peeped for love
and instead found
what we attempt to purge.
Which is reality
instead warping
and mourning
the placate scene
into what our creation
has never meant to be.
I've become fond of
literature and statutes
that line a facetious library.
One which mangles
others from stepping inside
yet holds the truest heart.
My finest lines
are not those spoken
but those read
from paper or stone,
because
it is only
to those un-living
the crēvit are not divined
and which Veritas,
can come find
Amor est vitae.
Sep 19, 2016
Sep 19, 2016 at 5:57 AM UTC