"harboring" poems
Static, memories
Emanating, separating
The postcard- perfect
Still life speaks
From its storied past.
Invisible, to drift
Among
The florid aphorisms,
Ending in
Deleterious debris,
Aftermath of
The inevitable.
Empty room, echo hollow
Tabula rasa -
Carpet clean, quite candid in it's
Return to callow.
Consciousness athirst,
Absorbing phenomena
Effervesce, inquisitive
Ideas foment,
Sealed inside a question.
The what -
Against the narrow
Scarcity,
And fatigue of should.
A tender malleable
Youth,
Betrayed, under
An assumed decorum -
Residue of truth,
Flattened emotion
Privations of a self
Unheard;
Misplaced affirmation,
Buried pathologies
In architecture
Fear manifests symbolic.
Harboring apathy
The lunacy of pious
Pedigree,
Import contagion,
Fetters of benignity
Doubt and indecision
Into ******
Cognizance,
Fallow spirits
Seep fumes of decay,
Credulity bleeds a human stain.
Social edifice, inoculated
Heirs of neurosis;
Palpable, sensual pain
And transience, though
Tacit - remain,
Our haunted history,
The blind hyperbole,
Maudlin
Forbearance, this haven,
A portrait
Of immaculate condition,
Nurtured with precision
Under sterling pretense.
Provincial domicile -
House beautiful,
Savage irony -
Unseen treasure
Innocence unabridged,
Faces, tiny creations;
Compliant vessels
Wounded,
While modernism murmurs
Its promise.
Brave New World,
In a late model sedan,
Domestic ranch on a
Corner lot,
Suburban natives,
Silence means security.
The misunderstood
Speak louder -
Consumerism beneath
Unvarnished ambition,
Never could
Repair the brokenness within...
© 2011 & 2018 W. S. Warner
Oct 20, 2011
Oct 20, 2011 at 5:38 PM UTC
You've crossed my mind many nights.
Sometimes I just lay there, holding you tight in mind.
Wandering your body with my hands.
Filling my fingers with the skin I've dreamt so much about.
The things you keep hidden. unraveled in empty sheets, blankets.
Your warmth becoming the only comforter that dictates whether or not I'll have sweet dreams.
What justifies the stain our breath has left on one another's.
The press of your face against my neck.
The marks left on each other in anticipation. Refusing to pull ourselves away.
Clinging tight to the ****** of being beside ourselves.
Deliberately keeping each other awake in the promise of sleeping wild moments later.
To watch your face scrunch up as it breaks your gasp. Bringing a halt to anticipation,
The comfort of bodies becoming pillows harboring us into a deep sleep. Soft, still.
My head laying on your shoulder.
As we ourselves become lost in the sheets
Jan 18, 2017
Jan 18, 2017 at 11:35 AM UTC
I’m a none,
Escaped from myself
Just to be an anonymous
A nameless face
Harboring a soul,
Inspiring reflection,
In a finite of time
Travelling in a circle
Over crosses and lines,
Budding path of life
Sacrificing all the senses
Truth is one, perceived it in a different way
Feb 17, 2018
Feb 17, 2018 at 7:39 PM UTC
Solemnly and silent
In subtleties she calls to me
Falling into my heart caverns
And running through my veins
Through my body
And where I am she’s close to me
Exuding watercolor dreams
Like a painter reacquainting me
With once greyish reality
And every morn, I hear her sing
In voice that constructs melody
As if to say to newest sun
To shine ever still
All subconsciously
And I would follow lyrically
Each instruction as they ring
Like notes in my mind harboring
This subtle, silent calls to me
Aug 11, 2021
Aug 11, 2021 at 12:53 AM UTC
From the time the heart first knew how to feel, and the eyes distinguished rain from tears, few have hidden behind the walls within me. Whether they found it a safe place or a jail cell - well, I guess we'll leave that to the imagination. No matter if it was a cell or heaven, the space within always felt alive. Even at my deadest times, the heat within coursed like it knew something more valuable was in store.
Somehow, some way, a wanderer found a pathway in. Had he known better, perhaps he would not have been in the hands of the girl with wisps of flame at her angered fingertips. The burns don't sustain, but the more that's lost, the more it dissolves all other slivers of hope left to grasp.
Fear is the real culprit, you must see. The fear I must face by harboring a false love; a fear of committing my own sins; of breaking my own promises.
I've never understood a "true understanding." Anger can be cooled by the calm, as does the rainbow after the storm. With the storm blown over, his eyes shone bright and revealed his intentions clearly - you can still love with a straight face and a frigid heart.
Jan 9, 2016
Jan 9, 2016 at 9:58 AM UTC
I won't be the weak one,
Although when I think and speak
I may tweak some I'm just
Searching for reasons
To justify the swell.
I will ride the undertow
Sunken beneath bass lines
And blunt tails
Intending to take it slow.
But I get a little excited sometimes, you know.
So when this undertow undoubtedly
Washes me ashore
I'll be the imaginary statue
Erected in my honor
Proudly saluting every fleeting
Emotion that sailed
Straight through my harbor.
You see,
Harboring hatred is a trait
I forfeited
To make way for the minuscule moments and glimpses
Of human existence penetrating
Layers of jade and years
Of conditioning and I am successfully
Transitioning into persistently
Acknowledging the raindrops
As they hit the pavement and pop.
You see some people feel the rain
While others just get wet,
A wise Rastafarian
Once famously said.
And I think on it all
Far too frequently for a quiet mind
But I've never had one of those
Not even after rolling papers
Intertwine and smoke fills my eyes,
Because I am accustomed
To a constant consciousness
And I'd much rather this
Than nothingness
And thus I sit, contemplating
Consequence
Aspiring to avoid the guilt of
Seasons past,
For I am past the point of
Punishment and pain ghosts and
I have plenty of pangs from all
The echoes
In my brain and in these
Rattled apartment's stains
It's not all in vain
Life grows these varicose
Veins
Colored-in, crawling across the
Window panes
Of the chamber where my soul remained
Through the bridge until the end of
The refrain.
I am in reign.
I rock the crown.
I roll the dice when
I am down
I try to think twice
Before I frown
I contemplate the value
Of the men that I allow
To lay me down
Now,
I am grown and I am proud
Because I am humble
And I'm not loud
Any longer,
I listen
To the subtle sounds of
Human respiration.
I am the incarnation
Of ancient incantations that
Shake down the walls which
Separate us all
All the way to the ground.
True power is found
Where unity resounds.
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 3:26 PM UTC
I've often wondered if sometimes, if at all
There's a part of you-even if just a tiny bit
That resents me for the things I've taken away
Without your knowledge
It's justifiable you know,
I'll understand if you do
I mean I resent me too at times
I wouldn't blame you
But you, with eyes wide closed,
Heart open look beyond all of me
And I realize,
Things aren't always black and white
There's a thin line in between
Harboring all that's good within,
Looking beyond the imperfections,
And it's you.
You're the warm blanket we all need,
A perpetual calendar of inspiration for me
And most.
Let your aspirations guide to better things,
Be drawn to success like a moth to a flame,
Careful not to burn your wings,
Or to let people step on your cape
You're more than what you see in the mirror
The love you have within you radiates
To form an everlasting echo that transcends
Beyond definition
Finding reflections of each other in our hearts
And that's where , not anywhere else
We'll keep each other safe, warm and protected
For someday, this is all we'll have-memories
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 8:18 PM UTC
Golden hour daughter
Splitting eyes gouging light—
Harboring disfunction, not
Finding sensory stimulation
Beyond illusion— overactive/>
Am I a life force,
Or a chair for it to sit?
Stitching pixels to form—
A drive to keep an open
Ripped rib wind— about
My drouth stomach,
Itching, salivating…
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 11:25 AM UTC
When you come to my thoughts
You are none other than the billowy embodiment of a reminiscent memory
and also a current everlasting longing
You are the memory of a being or idea
one can feel and remember vividly
but can not zero in on,
for you are the intangible
the winding wind
You are those spiraling twines that place intermittent along grapevines
You are the ancient scrolls from wise days before paperback
You are the spin in the reaching center of a handcrafted wreath
And within all these
individualities and collective,
Lies your scent comprised of multiple scents
You are the mighty togetherness
Your arrival to earth escaping from birth
gave these words to the minds of the kind
You are the winding wind who spins and twines, wreathes and scrolls who lands from time to time and when you do drop for a spell
This location of harboring landfall
is a day of new tradition,
the first step you take on new land on that new day
Becomes the origin of a new holiday
In my thoughts you are the mortar of the earth
Dec 19, 2018
Dec 19, 2018 at 9:21 AM UTC
There is a period of time
Immediately proceeding a conversation you had
Where you shared, what you are sure in retrospect,
Was too much
And when they go its nearly silent
Aside from the car engine
Your ears are on fire
On one hand you’re glad you said it
On the other hand
You wish to rewind
And unsay the things you did.
Reverse and greedily fill your arms with all the
Pieces of yourself you’d given away freely.
They’re yours and they don’t own them.
But like a dusty collection of spoons,
From all fifty states,
You know that you have no use
Harboring those thoughts.
Maybe they will somehow affect that person
And help them when they’re feeling down
But you doubt it.
They won’t fully understand,
Because you’re a bad story teller
Who can’t describe the feeling of the sun
On the tops of your legs and interpolated
Between your toes.
And you're selfish and don’t care
You feel incomplete now and hope
That maybe, just maybe
They weren’t even listening to you ramble
Or couldn’t understand you
Or cast the little wads of memories away
Like pencil shavings
Which are fun for a little under an hour.
And you’ve almost convinced yourself
Until you see them, and they see you
And open their mouth to say something-
And like some horror movie
The secrets come swarming.
Oct 6, 2012
Oct 6, 2012 at 11:04 PM UTC
Nothing they say is true;
My body is but a graveyard
where you bore
ten feet down and burried
my trust in men
My body is a graveyard and I am haunted
harboring all these dead secrets
everyone seems they have forgotten
inside me they are rotting
The girl in the mirror,
did she just escape a fire?
Haunted by the burn of liquor
Haunted by your searing fingers
(twenty of them)
Push me down harder
Pry me open quicker
I love the way it hurts
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 8:35 AM UTC
My interests
began to fail
me as my
darkness
moved in for
the ****
I blamed it
all on the
crescent Moon.
The bad
head case
of the
blues I
had been
Harboring
all dam year.
Then settled
on the fact
that it was
just another
washed out
wednesday
night.
Frusciante
once again
amazed
me as he
summoned the
Gods with
his guitar
and
sang to me
through
the magic
of the
radio.
My curiosity
began to
return as
the
comical
thoughts of
suicide
took to
their roost
inside
my head.
There they
always
await like
vultures atop
a San Pedro Cactus.
Patiently waiting
for the
next time
my mind
goes weak.
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 12:43 PM UTC
I like you.
I think I’ve liked you since the first time I saw you.
Don’t get me wrong, though. I don’t love you.
Saying I love you would be silly.
I don’t know you that well.
I just know your name.
And the course you’re taking.
Who your brother is.
What year you’re in.
So, you see? Saying I love you is preposterous.
But I like you.
I like you.
But my friends don’t.
They call you arrogant.
But I think you’re just confident.
I keep that information to myself, though.
I like you, but my friends don’t like you that much.
So I pretend that I don’t like you either.
That’s why when we see each other around campus I ignore you.
But please don’t think that I don’t like you.
Because I do.
I really do.
I’m not in love with you, though. Just so we’re clear.
I like you.
I like your eyes.
I like your wavy brown hair.
I always wonder what it would feel like to run my fingers through it.
I like your hands, especially your fingers.
Long and thin like a pianist’s.
I want to hold your hand and lace our fingers together.
I like your lips and the way they hint at a smile whenever you see me.
Or maybe that’s just my imagination. But still, I like your lips.
I’d like them even more if they’re pressed against mine.
Sorry, please ignore the line above this one.
I like you.
I know because my hear flutters every time I see you.
Sounds silly and cliché, I know. But it’s true.
You make me feel weird. But a good kind of weird.
I like you.
And I want to know more about you.
Like why take up engineering?
Why not accountancy like your brother?
I want to know you more.
Can you sing? Do you dance?
And why did you choose number 7 for you jersey number?
I’d like to get to know you. But I know it’s impossible.
Well, maybe not impossible, just outside the realm of probability.
I like you.
And I’m saying it here.
Because I can’t tell you. I can’t tell my friends.
But now I’m telling everybody.
I like you.
But I don’t love you.
Because you’re a stranger.
A beautiful stranger but a stranger nonetheless.
One day we’d see each other and maybe I’d smile.
Hopefully, you’ll smile back.
But until then, I’d be harboring these feelings of mine.
And I’ll watch you. And like you from the sidelines.
Jan 9, 2016
Jan 9, 2016 at 7:39 AM UTC
Words, words, worms! My mind is swarmed
With them. Ants file in through the sticky
Canals, chattering, stamping their little black feet.
They use me. I am their harboring medium,
A visitor in my own head.
Black, empty mouths flutter and dance and signal
Amongst themselves, crowding my skull,
A murmuration of phrases and guttural sounds.
I mustn't tell fully what they say.
They draw forth black and bubbling swamps,
Wicked crows, the yawping millions, pecking,
Pecking, gouging with yammering beaks
At every smooth, young innocent.
There is death in this tumult of words.
Let it not take me.
Mar 27, 2018
Mar 27, 2018 at 10:14 PM UTC
PART I: ADRIFT
Madness passed Misery
and bumped into me.
We travel together now,
Islands lost at sea.
Ahead, Tomorrow rides,
pinned to the sunrise.
Yesterday dogs us,
marking our tides.
Empty atolls pass
on windborne paths.
Now homes to only bones;
more dead outcasts.
The Ocean never laments
or attempts to make sense.
We just wander across it
until living relents.
PART II: VAGRANT
Lagoon to lagoon,
harboring my tether.
Giving me shelter
from daily storms.
Lost in the masts,
a paper boat.
Taking on water...
as expected.
A lucky hook
snares the soggy craft.
Dried and opened:
a cry for .
When no reply came,
a folded flotilla
Whitened the water,
a cry now screaming.
This harbor now empties.
My travels resume.
PART III: DREAM
The sea fades to gulls, and then,
a delta rushed with mountainfulls.
I've become a salmon fighting upstream,
an island lost in a riverbed dream.
Aug 26, 2015
Aug 26, 2015 at 11:30 AM UTC
Packing things into brown boxes.
Concealed memories in a cardboard funeral.
Harboring dust like it’s a trophy.
Time ticks
ticks
ticks
ticks away.
So much crammed into tight spaces.
Wrinkled and wrapped up just like it was placed.
The season on my face is fall.
Each tear swaying down like a fallen leaf.
Choking on how to say goodbye.
Adios.
Sayonara.
Au Revoir.
Aloha.
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 12:23 AM UTC
Red faced and wasted
I saw you naked
And fell in love
With your ancient body
Gone is the impulse to run
And all i can do now
Is to write simply
Lies and truth
Mixed together
Like oil and vinegar
We are fumigating
Our own bodies
Remove these carbon copies
And quietly daydream
About the faces of lost
Summer lovers
Fundraisers say goodbye
To yesterday's vacations
Just as we long to cry
We catch ourselves
Smiling for a moment
What do the turtles wish to communicate
Are we awake in our shells
Or have we fallen into the spell of limitation
Consternation and ************
Facts and figures receive their adulation
While we attract only tender triangulations
Please finish up your investigation
I blame you for instigating this comedy
A catalyst of abomination and dichotomy
Which followed me into retirement
Let's give banquets back to the government
And return to ancient lands
Devoted to camels and drunken apologies
It's apocryphal
Pornographic phantasmagoria
Fantastic fan-fictions
Describing sacredly sadistic rituals
Glorious duality
Radically alters our expectations
Yet manages to satisfy your frustrations
In dissimilar situations
We liberate our agitation and consternation
Over magazines and barnacles
We are more conspicuous
Than an empty gap in the sky
Made by two constellations
Taking a long vacation
Intrepid sailors raise their sails
And navigate by stars and compasses
Renaissance dancers are porous instigators
They initiate our imitations
We dream of political sovereignty
To remediate these tragedies
I breathe warfare and cleanse the air
Of apathetic non-negotiaters
Harboring criminals like butterflies
Sometimes the means do justify your eyes
Targets never argue
And bullets never lie
Finances and fiancées
Certainly have some value
Yet we underrate our skies
Miles of lost continents
Drift out from your skin
We begin an embargo
Hoping in the future we will win
Metaphysical furniture
Effects the state of mind you're in
The record players turned down
But you heat me up to begin
May 24, 2019
May 24, 2019 at 4:05 PM UTC
Self-breed hatred so easily suppressed
Taunted by the world, it’s waiting to explode
No, there’s no true taste, we’re only meandering
Listening to the menacing roar begging
To be given breath to materialize
Subtle commentary begins to eat at the flesh of self-belief
Identity crises momentarily paralyze audacity’s ammunition
True sights of self-aesthetic-beauty tremble
Diminishing that part of self-worth
Looming attacks threaten to pour over and reduce
The value of internal splendor for it’s seemingly of no use
Every praise never given to the self but to someone else
A constant crack at the foundation of self-love, it subconsciously ensures
She and she and she and she are said to be wonderful, but never the self
Realization that from any angle the self is not good enough
Leaves the mind discombobulated for lifelong sentiments of inadequacy
Seems to be the only route
Unconscious self denigration provokes false sense of value
For the true inner wealth in self-worth is sullied and unidentifiable
But the self is not merely self-loath and harboring of inadequacy
For goodness in abundance is found a few peals away from the layers of insecurity
Mar 16, 2011
Mar 16, 2011 at 4:42 PM UTC
I’ve had this red heart shaped locket
for 12 years now.
I got it as a gumball prize
at a rundown Chinese restaurant
(maybe in Germantown?)
A lot of the paint has chipped off
and the tiny keys to it are long gone.
What shows beneath the paint
is shinny tin.
When I was a tacky teen
I would wear it clasped around my
neck imitating Sid but not
knowing it.
I always wanted someone to give me
something like this
but I impatiently jumped the gun and
cranked the dial of the machine
myself,
and the tiny Valentine rolled out.
(SINCERELY, YOURS TRULY)
No sentiment to share.
Now I’m nearly 30
and it hangs on my key chain,
a teenaged 50 cent memory
amongst adult responsibility.
If you see me standing crossed arm at a show,
and spy my red locket,
know that I’m an advocate of
living in the past,
and harboring silly passions.
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 1:24 PM UTC
The moon changes subtly
Whenever we gaze away,
As our worries evolve swiftly
And our joys stay the same.
Perhaps she is a beacon
Baring light for our souls,
Enticing us into her depths
With glimpses of the heart's gold.
Blessed enchantress,
Affixed in a gentle way,
Dragging all from ached misery
And harboring us in her supple bay.
Reject ye thy sun's beating rays
& dispel lightning's spiteful bright tase,
Look only to the night sky as it glistens
If you seek to bask in nature's grace.
Jun 7, 2019
Jun 7, 2019 at 6:28 PM UTC
You leave that dismal room
And walk
Past open doors
And broken clock
Down dingy corridors
You creep
While strangers
In strange rooms find sleep
You walk on carpet
Stained and fading
Designs all ruined
Yet not abating
Out where the housekeeper’s
Cart is parked
Her smile sunken
Her manner dark
She emerges from
Behind a stack
Of ***** blankets
Folded back
With broken teeth
And burdened eyes
Wrinkles worn
In plain disguise
Someone’s daughter
Whittled down
Her hair too thin
Along her crown
Yet harboring
A warmth untouched
Her shattered image
Says too much
Windows open
On a courtyard scene
Junkies nodding
In the sun serene
High altitude
Of Denver streets
Smell ***** smoke
And searing meats
In Civic Park
The men that stare
Sell rough-cut gems
Which slice the air
One calls you over
With his hand
More incantation
Than command
Says that he’s got
Just what you need
With eyes now begging
To be freed
You walk away
And in his strife
He calls to you
“I’ve lived my life!”
With eyes as dark
As afghan hash
He fades away
As you move past
In distant vistas
Where the Rockies lie
You hear that unknown
Ancient cry
You feel the motion
You must move on
The mountains are calling
The city is gone
Feb 21, 2016
Feb 21, 2016 at 2:58 PM UTC
Absolute bliss.
The forest around me made me feel the most peaceful I had in years.
The tall Redwoods reached up to the sky for a kiss, the bright, green moss climbed up the huge roots.
Everything seemed to be paused.
Like the world had stopped, as if everything had froze and stood still in this moment of pure beauty.
The mist the only thing that seemed to be moving, like a heavy blanket hovering over the ground.
My breath came out in puffs of condensation, the product of the invigorating chill of the morning.
The sun just barely poked its arms through the gray and sent the dew glittering all over.
This was the most breathtaking thing I'd ever experienced.
To feel so small among so many great things harboring beauty.
I felt as if I could sit on this damp ground forever.
My mind went completely blank here, my thoughts soared up to the sky riding along with the trunks of the trees.
I'd never felt more free.
I layed my head down on the grass and let my body go limp.
I felt safe as if nothing could ever touch me.
Until something did, little raindrops fell upon my nose and slid down the side of my face.
I opened my mouth and let the rain touch my tongue, it tasted pure and good.
My hair grew damp along with my clothes, but I wasn't cold.
I was absolutely content.
I slowly sat up and listened to the rain pour over my little heaven.
It was the most precious melody.
The air around me was heavy, and everything seemed to be lit in shades of violet. I breathed it in, took it in.
I suddenly became afraid.
Aware that I would have to leave this place soon.
A tear slipped down my cheek.
I felt weak, and helpless.
I didn't want to return to the outside world.
For I felt those moments, in this small opening , in a vast and shrouded forest, have changed a part of me.
Or more-so, awakened a part.
A part I never knew existed.
For the first time in what felt like ages..
I felt alive.
Jan 21, 2013
Jan 21, 2013 at 12:40 AM UTC
*"What is your name?"
Her Dark Eyes Reminded Me Of The Ocean At Dusk. They Were Dark, Deep, And Endless; Harboring Many Secrets.
"My name is Sydney."
My Lips Pealed Back Into A Smile Even Though Her Expression Was Quite Puzzled.
"Sydney?"
She Smiled.. The Sweetest Smile I Have Ever Seen. She Turned To Her Friend Who Had The Same Dark Eyes. He Smiled Too. The Corners Of His Eyes Morphed Into Sharp Points As His Plumb Cheeks Stretched Upwards.
"We shall give you a new name."
She Turned To Him.
"What shall we name her?"
More Of Their Friends Gathered Around Them.
One Boy Approached The Group Which Had Congregated Around Me.
"Let's name her Maudie."
"Yes! That is perfect. Do you know what that means?"
She Softly Stroked My Hair As Her Dark Eyes Locked Onto Mine.
"It means Rose. Beautiful Rose."
I Smiled, My New Friends Watched As She Took My Hands.
"Maudie... Don't Ever Forget That This Is Your Name. Never Forget Who You Are."*
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 1:16 AM UTC
Sticks and Stones
Sticks and stones will
surely break bones
leaving scares we cannot hide,
but words can sting like bumble bees
when two wrongs simply collide.
Fractures can be fixed
while broken hearts reflect,
walls are built around the soul
if only to protect.
Sorry's such a simple word
though seldom ever said,
pride most often wins
harboring anger instead.
Sticks and stones we need not fear
it's the bruises we cannot see,
that hurt us must of all,
I honestly believe.
Written By Kathy J Parenteau
Copyright © 03/13/2014
All Rights Reserved
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 7:22 PM UTC
I shook the devil’s hand and looked him dead in the eye the night I put the barrel of a shotgun in between my lips
While I stood on the edge of a chair with a noose around my neck.
Killing two birds with one stone.
The feathers of the bird deep inside me would be ruffled after the bullet raced through them,
Shearing them apart like a combine moves through a field of corn.
The bird on the outside of my body would finally learn to fly after the bullet struck the inside of my mouth like a flashlight lights up a dark cave harboring a family of bats
And right before I fell limp to the floor, no longer able to hear my own heartbeat inside my ears,
The noose caught my fall, tightening around my neck.
The night I stood on a wooden chair, holding my own death within my hands in complete darkness around eleven because I wanted to be an owl instead of a raven,
The chirping inside of me wouldn’t quiet.
I heard the voices of wings outside the window in the tree I’d thought about soaring from; telling me to stop or cheering me on, I don’t know.
But if I would’ve put the single round inside the chamber of the gun or slipped the slightest bit from the chair,
I’d know how it feels to fly.
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 9:03 PM UTC