"orphans" poems
There are clouds of sound and noise
That utter thoughts in a muffled voice,
Gestures of hands simply won’t cast out
Cloudy skies in days of doubt.
Like strangers lost in a crowd
Whose cries are buried by the loud,
The loud din of helpless wanderers
Whose presence disrupts and disturbs.
All strangers left on their own,
Islands floating out in the fog;
Orphans with cruel fates to bemoan;
Fates that are swept under the rug.
And who's looking with interest, who reaches down with an arm,
Never so eager to help, neither too late nor too soon?
Who would make this world perhaps a little more warm
And freshen the skies of our cloudy afternoon?
Sep 7, 2018
Sep 7, 2018 at 2:18 AM UTC
What I am,
Is not what you are,
Because unlike you, I never was human.
Never was able to really feel emotions, which you all adore,
Been called a demon for that reason, a monster which was deserted,
Emptiness, calm and drenched in the sorrow of never fitting in is what embellishes me, an ornament of true, cruel sadness, undetected.
And yes, I don't understand you, perhaps I don't even want to, knowing what humans are like, I accepted my fate of being alone,
I let my fingernails grow long and sharp to at least fit into the picture of a monster you have put me, because what else do I have left ?
A heart, perhaps which desires to take those under its wing whom suffered the same tragity, orphans with no place or rejected, abused.
And a body, carrying a thousand marks done by a knife, or these nails, in a cold desperate wishing to be normal at least for a day, to not be alone and deserted, with no one left to talk but a silly pen, a pocket watch which is about to stop ticking calmly, gently very soon.
An ember of light, triggers some emotions at rare occasions, which fade into nothingness as the day begins to face it's end, ah, phantoms
So, what I am,
Is not what you are,
Because I am...
A demon.
~ Umi
Apr 14, 2018
Apr 14, 2018 at 6:00 PM UTC
black as night
chiseled stone
spirits ramble
orphans roam
lover's eyes
masquerade
9 to 5
come out and play
drop of blood
alabaster
frozen heart
encased in plaster
open mouth
parted lips
shared breaths
sway and dip
swish and flick
atmosphere
moody blips
no need to fear
stormy skies
vivaciousness
gentle touch
tenacious kiss
cotton candy
flushed and wild
sapphire eyes
mother's child
wide grin
break apart
fleshy dawn
beating heart
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 10:26 AM UTC
Live in the shadows
And flee from the sun,
An army of rebels
Marching as one.
Mingle your voice
With the other outcasts,
Your single goal
Is to simply outlast.
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 12:29 PM UTC
I will love you no matter how many mistakes I make when trying to reduce fractions, and no matter how difficult it is to memorize the periodic table. I will love you as the manatee loves the head of lettuce and as the dark spot loves the leopard, as the leech loves the ankle of a wader and as a corpse loves the beak of a vulture. I will love you as the iceberg loves the ship, and the passengers love the lifeboat and the lifeboat loves the teeth of the ***** whale, and the ***** whale loves the flavor of naval uniforms. I never want to be away from you again, except at work, in the restroom or when one of us is at a movie the other does not want to see.
I will love you as we find ourselves farther and farther from one another, where we once were so close that we could slip the curved straw, and the long, slender spoon, between our lips and fingers respectively. I will love you until the chances of us running into one another slip from slim to zero, and until your face is fogged by distant memory, and your memory faced by distant fog, and your fog memorized by a distant face, and your distance distanced by the memorized memory of a foggy fog. I will love you no matter where you go and who you see, no matter where you avoid and who you don’t see, and no matter who sees you avoiding where you go. I will love you no matter what happens to you, and no matter how I discover what happens to you, and no matter what happens to me as I discover this, and no matter how I am discovered after what happens to me as I am discovering this.
I will love you as a drawer loves a secret compartment, and as a secret compartment loves a secret, and as a secret loves to make a person gasp, and as a gasping person loves a glass of brandy to calm their nerves, and as a glass of brandy loves to shatter on the floor, and as the noise of glass shattering loves to make someone else gasp, and as someone else gasping loves a nearby desk to lean against, even if leaning against it presses a lever that loves to open a drawer and reveal a secret compartment. I will love you until all such compartments are discovered and opened, and until all the secrets have gone gasping into the world.
I will love you as misfortune loves orphans, as fire loves innocence, and as justice loves to sit and watch while everything goes wrong.
I will love you if I never see you again, and I will love you if I see you every Tuesday.
Strange as it may seem, I still hope for the best, even though the best, like an interesting piece of mail, so rarely arrives, and even when it does it can be lost so easily.
Life will never end when you are in it.”
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 1:30 PM UTC
Lou,
You're an orphan now.
The deciding vote
In your favor,
The good kisses,
The latent reconciliation
Linger in this thick room.
You won't need to clean chimneys,
Work in a blacking factory,
Get your ears pinched, and your **** kicked.
You've laid out a fine plaster effigy
In this cherry box;
Yet Enzo's nature is hidden:
His personal tears
And public laughter
Aren't in this demeanor
With rosary weaved into the basket of his hands.
We've polished our shoes,
So we stand and discuss
The crucifix wedged
To hold up the lid,
And how we follow our fathers' footsteps.
We knew it to end this way
With our fathers' generation.
*But you must know your father lost a father,
That father lost, lost his...*
I too am orphaned, Lou,
And we'll continue on
As orphans do.
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 10:04 AM UTC
Allah was his ears
As sounds unlawful, unethical it never heard.
Secrets, gossips and rumours were also barred.
It buzzed with words of Quran day and night
Always Open to sounds just and upright.
Allah was his eyes
As it looked parents, orphans and needy with love
Brimmed with tears thinking of Almighty above
It never despised his brother and from lust it was freed.
Gold and silver had no worth and had no signs of greed.
Allah was his hands
As it stopped things reprehensible with force
In Allah's cause spent abundantly his resource
It caressed the head of an orphan in affection.
Time and again meekly raised it in supplication.
Allah was his feet
As it never moved towards things which Allah hate
Avoided walking arrogantly with a strutting gait
It always ran to help downtrodden, oppressed.
For knowledge for light it was on constant quest.
He had mountains of obligatory good deeds
He had mountains of non-obligatory good deeds
His protector was Allah The Almighty
His enemy was enemy of Allah The Almighty
He was beloved of Allah
He was friend of Allah
He was Wali of Allah
He was Waliullah.
Dec 13, 2014
Dec 13, 2014 at 5:33 PM UTC
If I were ever to chance upon, a real life Genie
and being ever so kind, he granted me wishes freely
I wouldn't waste any time, and ask him quite loudly
'Give me a Flying Carpet, and make the sky cloudy!'
Astride my bed with wings, I would swiftly reach the sky
and dive through the clouds like through butter a hot knife
feeling the wind in my hair, laughing with unbridled glee
as a soaring eagle feels in the air, light, and free
Next I'd become a Lion, to roar and roam the jungles deep
Growling and tearing into poachers, and savoring the meat
I would rule all the mighty creatures, as their rightful king
and all the forest's denizens would my praises sing
Soon after I would ask for a ship, and a crew of souls brave
I would visit all lands afar, upon my Master of waves
without a single glance behind and not a spot of bother
I would see and feel and taste all the world has to offer
From above I'd go beneath, diving as a blue whale
The murky depths of the oceans whistling past my tail
All the wondrous sea dwellers, and all the buried wonders
would become a part of my enchanting under sea tale
Last of all I'd ask the genie, to build with his hand
a nation built for all the poor orphans of every land
where they eat and drink and make much merriment
and also study, play, and sleep with gladness in them
Sep 15, 2014
Sep 15, 2014 at 3:08 AM UTC
emotion
canoodles
with
thought
begetting
words
frivolous
and
impermanent
until
i
baptize
them in
ink
and
then send
them away
to
be
fostered and fed
by
those
kindhearted souls
who
read and wish
them
to have a
chance
to
succeed
in
the hard hearted world
into
which
poetry bleeds
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 12:35 AM UTC
I remember staring at the ceiling
listening to Schindler's list in the dark.
We were two orphans
sleeping with our poor lost mother
who couldn't pull herself together
for her two orphan children.
The only lullaby she knew
was her own depression.
I remember how the music scared me
worse than nightmares
and I lay close to you imagining
the great train
carting off lost mothers
and orphan sisters.
Our poor mother turn child
sneaking into bed with her orphan daughters
to escape the wisps of nightmares.
The music,
filled with so much sorrow and pain
was too much for ones so young.
I'm so sorry sister,
We really should never have listened.
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 9:17 PM UTC
like a good poet, I whine and whinny:
the muses are unreliable, get too much paid vacation,
unlimited unpaid, and pretend their cells are out of range,
even when they are in bed with you and you’re near desperate
to cop a feel of inspiration
my problem is a variation on the theme. Everyday I jot down
too many possibilities, a handful of words added to the list of
pound bound childless titles, sad faced orphans, dogs and cats,
squeaking “pick me, pick me,”
our reply a casual
“you on the list” rather than admit they are titled, but bodiless
until cupid smashes a cupcake in my face and the bell rings
there they stand - at a friendless crossroads - direction home,
path unknown, awaiting a poet tour guide to complete them
if this sounds a bit like a bad achy breaky country song,
then you and I, on the same side of where I could be headed
cause at the friendless crossroads, always unsure, left foot first? that first line, first step, could be a false messiah,
or a free-at-last, a free-at-last emancipation
but there are no sidelines in a forest there no sidelines in a poet’s mind; there are the minefields of mindfulness that can explore explode and explain why it is tempting to believe that every gifted one deserves a break today
but you cannot be broken or break off from the community
“Hillel said: Do not separate yourself from the community; and do not trust in yourself until the day of your death. Do not judge your fellow until you are in his place. Do not say something that cannot be understood but will be understood in the end. Say not: When I have time I will study because you may never have the time”
my friend,
substitute writing poetry for study, for study is for us the analysis of everything, that is, everything we say, see and know the need to communicate
so
those who abide in the life of good words will not suffer an abdication (yours)
do not think
there are friendless crossroads,
there are only crossroads that the eye cannot yet see a fellow sojourner coming toward him,
bearing an oversized load of
the inside insight of responsibility
that demands sharing
that is why we call our meetings at
a crossroads,
a cross
Feb 4, 2018
Feb 4, 2018 at 10:21 AM UTC
I never say we are orphans;
But they say we’re.
But who are they?
They are the orphans.
They chased us away from their fold,
Yea, it’s for good that we’ve been raised by HIM.
Their fold hath been stained by outrageous laws,
And are shrouded with selfish attires,
And they have swallowed our innocence and spit it out.
But why they did so?
It was they’d turned ‘gainst us,
And their treacherous acts named them traitors.
It is they lurk around us still to **** us,
They contrive against us still to covet our belongings;
And they lay their greedy tongues stretched at our treasures.
But HE is our Protector, laying us in HIS Arms,
And we are safe in HIS Arms.
No, we aren’t orphans,
For God in Christ Jesus is our Father,
And we are HIS children.
Jan 16, 2012
Jan 16, 2012 at 10:59 AM UTC
I’m born, the world is warm
I learn about God, Love and Peace is never forlorn
Memories of compassion and safety like a song
No more lessons lately, wonder what went wrong?
A sting of a Bee in my heart said they were gone
I tried to reach the next of kin a lot, but only felt next to sin along
Once, I heard a Lion Queen roar
And so the young had to leave and be in the raw
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 3:33 AM UTC
Almost 3 years. That’s all it took, 3 years for me to fall in love with you. We never became anything, it was because I never wanted us to be. I wasted every single thing you gave me. I threw away the flowers you gave me for my birthday because of the reason I thought they were too cliche, I crumpled the love letters you wrote for me for I didn’t want your words to be my medicine, I never accepted the love you were giving me because I refuse to let anyone in. And after 3 years, I realised that I also needed flowers not just thorns, that I was suffering from taking poison for years because I never took your medicine and that sometimes it would be great to let someone in. You gave everything to me, your eyes somehow managed to have some light in them whenever they saw me but I killed the light and turned it into darkness, you do not own your smile anymore since you gave it to me but I returned it to you that’s why right now all you could ever do is frown because I erased it from you, and you gave me your entire universe but unfortunately I wasn’t interested in cosmology back then. But now? There is nothing I want to study but your universe and all that’s revolving around it. I did all of those things, maybe that’s why you became the first word of this paragraph. You became my almost, and not just an ordinary one, but an almost that I could never ever forget.
We were the children of love, however timing wants us to be orphans. Just when I started realising my love for you, you found yourself. You built your own universe and your smile became even more happier than before, your eyes speak a thousand words now, they are no longer the ones I wasted. I would do anything if I could ever just turn back time, I would hold you and tell you that I feel the same, I would give you all the things you gave me, I would do anything for you. Too many could have been, should have been, and what ifs. But nothing could ever change what is happening, perhaps it’s right for me to feel this, to feel this pain, the pain that I gave you. Love wanted us to feel the same. Timing does too, but the difference is timing wants us to feel the same pain. I don’t want to beg you to love me, or to stay, or to do everything just to bring back the flames because baby all I am about to do is to hope. I will not hope for you, but I will hope for days.
I hope for the day everything would finally be okay. I hope for the day that we are both happy, and that we are ready to make each other happier. I hope for the day that we can both see the moon in our eyes and the sun in our smiles. I hope for the day that we are both prepared to let each other in, and that we are no longer cowards but brave people. I hope for the day that we are finally exploring each other's universe and we will both realise that is the only thing we would ever want to study. I hope for the day our fire will warm us both instead of burning us to death. I hope your water will cleanse me and mine will make you feel alive instead of drowning each other because of our deep oceans. I hope for the day that we can finally heal one another instead of destroying each other. I hope for the day that we consider each other to be our home, not just some place you can go to because you don’t have anywhere else to stay. I hope that we will no longer fight the hurricanes and storms we gave to each other, because one day, we would conquer them, hand in hand, together. I hope for the day that you are no longer my almost, but my always. And maybe, one day, timing will be our friend not our foe, or maybe we would even be strong enough to fight it, but right now we aren’t even strong enough to fight for our love. I will hope for these days to come, I will hope for these things to happen, I will hope for everything. Because that’s the only thing I could do right now.
Jul 17, 2016
Jul 17, 2016 at 2:43 AM UTC
*Stranded in a car,
Parking lot castaway,
Babylonian sunset,
A star sleeping on regret,
The cold street lights now casting spells,
Down upon a pale face with these eyes painted,
With their shadows*
The rain soldiers are marching in,
They'll crown me with their arrows,
I am the queen of the orphans,
A city for a throne,
And heartless chest for a scepter,
It is rumored that there was a cool of the day,
But it is not found here,
If birds had songs then,
They choke and spit out cruel laughter now,
Therefore the gulls migrated to die on asphalt,
To collect the filth I leave upon the earth,
I have sticky fingers on me you see,
Attached to soggy gloves
**The rats keep eating at my bed,
The rats keep eating at my bed,
The rats keep eating at my bed,**
I cannot sleep tonight,
**The rats keep eating at my bed,
But feed the rabbits,
Feed the rabbits,
Feed the rabbits,
Feed the rabbits**,
The Commercialized Army is pressing in,
Following the systematic skein of procedure,
**Knit the net,
Produce,
Consume,
Expire,
Produce,
Consume,
Expire,
Knit the net,
Catch me,
Catch me,
Catch me,
Knit the net**
I shouldn't be here
Where can I find it?
I shouldn't be here
Where can I find it?
Will I stop myself?
I shouldn't be here
Where can I find it?
Will I stop myself?
Time moves too slow
I shouldn't be here,
Where can I find it?
Will I stop myself?
Time moves too slow
I shouldn't be-
And The Sun Goes
Down,
In,
My,
Brown,
Eyes,
Twilight fixation,
The orange star sleeps in the smog,
My mind in its fog,
Here comes the pale ghost eye,
Peaking through his veil,
Midnight fixation,
Staring down,
On my brown eye island
Where I washed ashore
Jul 1, 2013
Jul 1, 2013 at 12:44 AM UTC
Birthdays from childhood
Are full of celebrations, is understood.
It was not any different for me
Till the unusual plea!
For my 13th birhday
The first time I gave away!
Instead of getting gifts
I contributed to the orphans by giving gifts...
Now I look back to those days
On how happy were they in all ways
I have given tones of gifts
To my fellow companions
But nothing can equalize the happy faces
Of the orphans in their mazes.
Even today I relish
The small gifts I bestowed
To those unknown orphans,,,
Is what which makes my life today
With a brimming hurray!
The way they valued my gifts
No matter how small
They looked at me tall,
And gave the happiest call
Which I would never forget at all!
Those were the real happy days of mine
Which are valued as divine
And will never decline
But I do hope will combine
To give more hapiness: for I define:-
We make a living by what we get
And make a life by what we give!.
Jan 6, 2013
Jan 6, 2013 at 12:41 AM UTC
Born in this world, blessed are those:
Who with family and love; I suppose.
Born in this world, blessed are those:
Who live with friends and die very old.
Blood defines family; blessed are those:
Who belong to a branch of an old tree oak.
Love defines friendship; blessed are those:
Who aren't family but matter the most.
Born in this world; we come alone.
We live with people and then die alone.
Born in this world; blessed are those,
Who realize we're orphans or I suppose.
-The Silent Poet
Dec 5, 2015
Dec 5, 2015 at 10:47 AM UTC
maybe the reason why I dislike Batman
and love the X-Men
is because Batman, gifted with money and power, chose his struggle
the X-Men were forced- they had mutanthood shoved upon them
and had to be crucifed as society pushed them away
hiding in fear and hatred of what they must face
the X-Men learn to adapt, they take what they have
and choose to be the better man, or the worse man,
but they take the fight that was given them
and the freakery that they were born with,
and they adapt.
Batman, however, was born normally,
did not have to run or hide, for he was privileged,
and he walked, walked straight into freakery
he took the burden others were throttled with
and laid it upon his own shoulders, crying 'woe is me'
whilst he went about the noble task of hero-dom
he made himself a fancy suit- he had been given
normalcy and he invented freakery in order to claim sacrifice
he did not need to give himself- he was an ordinary man
that laid down his life.
The reason why that bothers me so much
is that ordinary men do not need to lay down their lives
they are not called to that future
it is not in their cards
he claimed his heroic deeds and choose to throw himself into the
furnace flames- while others suffered unwillingly
he chose it
he took their pain and made it less
'see, I can do it! anyone can do it!'
what makes the X-Men special is that
their mutation isn't 'deal with pain of superheroism'
it's some other power, but they have to learn how to be ostracized
not anyone can do that- they had to
their survival depended on it
Batman walked into the struggle of their lives
and declared himself a hero
though, for some, the declaration
was not in their words or actions, it was written
into their DNA, it was marked in their skin
by the brands of their oppressors, it
was pounded into every heartbeat shocked with electricity
they fought and hid their heroism their whole lives
for they knew- it was not something to love,
it was something to suffer with-
and Batman took that, he took the heroism
and he projected it across the night sky,
declaring, "I am Batman",
and it is something he can escape from,
he can walk away, he can walk away, he can walk away,
and yes, he chooses not to,
but what he does is steal from those who cannot walk away
his heroism takes the nails in the hands of mutants and orphans
and masochistically drives them into his own palms
crying whilst doing it.
rather than being forced to adapt and look normal,
he puts on a suit and prances through the night dramatically
he takes everything sufferable about being a hero
and tosses it out the window-
he takes everything noble about being a hero
and growls it in a dramatic voice, posing, in his fancy suit,
when he could be safe at home. why would you choose this
why would anyone choose this
be thankful for your ability to be safe,
that is the real superpower- the ability
to be normal, to have a home to go back to, to
have a normal purpose and a normal life,
and Batman is completely, utterly, ungrateful-
he wishes there were more,
while those born with 'gifts' would be satisfied with even less.
Oct 26, 2014
Oct 26, 2014 at 7:23 PM UTC
WEAVE no more silks, ye Lyons looms,
To deck our girls for gay delights!
The crimson flower of battle blooms,
And solemn marches fill the night.
Weave but the flag whose bars to-day
Drooped heavy o’er our early dead,
And homely garments, coarse and gray,
For orphans that must earn their bread!
Keep back your tunes, ye viols sweet,
That poured delight from other lands!
Rouse there the dancer’s restless feet:
The trumpet leads our warrior bands.
And ye that wage the war of words
With mystic fame and subtle power,
Go, chatter to the idle birds,
Or teach the lesson of the hour!
Ye Sibyl Arts, in one stern knot
Be all your offices combined!
Stand close, while Courage draws the lot,
The destiny of human kind.
And if that destiny could fail,
The sun should darken in the sky,
The eternal bloom of Nature pale,
And God, and Truth, and Freedom die!
5k
‘Arson’,
Cries the enslaved gunpowder path ,
That bridged our realms , of love and lust;
For beyond the rubbles , of Cupid’s wrath,
We are but orphan specks of dust.
So now,
Dwell we in the realms ,of those forgotten,
And to every legend , vanquished by rust,
Remind with verses bold , bitter but seldom rotten,
That We are but orphan specks of dust .
For every silent ballad
Raging in distant lands ;
For every broken dream
Swallowed in temporal sands;
For every dewdrop that will never burst ;
We are but orphan specks of dust .
Dec 25, 2014
Dec 25, 2014 at 1:16 AM UTC
It was hard to miss Jerry
in the corner
holding court
over the bran muffin.
Flurries of judgement and wisdom
flying across coffee dappled pages
as he sentenced a large cup of
Paruvian Dark Roast
to be ******
7 am Dan never flinched
steeling his tenured chair at
a spot one section of stir sticks away
calculably just out of reach
of the regularly scheduled tantrum.
An auburn-haired newbie
fanes camoflage
peeking over two pages of Obituaries
she never intended to read.
Her raised and nearly detached eyebrows
hover above the dateline like a magic trick.
And on every table fall
scattered leaves
of press print trees
unsorted and littered with intent
by careless absorbers of trivia.
Disconnected
ear-budded
footnotes of humanity
see nothing
hear nothing
using the disarrayed World News as
enormous coasters
unmoved by hyper-ventilating compulsives
pushing panic buttons through
desperate quests to uncover
one alphabetically organized set
of local news.
Of the papers not strewn
the remnant holds anxious
on a distant wall
a throng of flopping
rabbit-eared
step children
dangling precariously
from unaccomodating magazine racks
like smoky orphans from
windows in a fiery building.
Disordered.
Disrespected.
Discarded...words are
Jews in the holocaust.
Death of a voice.
We are irreverent in our silence
diminishing genius through apathy
put off by the imposition to be challenged
choosing disposable principles
above responsible knowledge.
Everything is disposable - cameras, cars,
relationships, loyalty, babies...and wisdom -
crumpling Pulitzer prize authors
and discarding WW2 veterans
just to get to the cartoons.
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 11:15 PM UTC
to our forefathers;
who fought for our rights for golden years
who bled for peace even before we were born
who screamed for our freedom for decades
who died and dedicated their lives for the future and welfare of the Bangsa,
THANK YOU.
the tears of the mothers, the widows and the orphans will now turn into joy
the flowers will bloom in the battleground of the blood and sweat of the Mujahideen
the scars of the bullet wound from the past will now heal
to the survivors who continued the fight;
the war is over, you can now rest and start over.
no more running, no more hiding.
you can now take the streets and dance with your grandchildren without worries.
no more guns to carry, only pens to write new beginnings
this time, a beautiful one.
Jan 25, 2019
Jan 25, 2019 at 7:15 PM UTC
Granite plaque in a tulip bed, end to the Oregon Trail.
Teminus for ordeal by ox and prairie schooner,
where slight survivors began rejuvenation,
the wretched fortunate refusing a backward glance,
children with ancient faces set atop skeletal frames
tried desperately to remember what it meant to play.
Manifest Destiny's broken terra incognitae rested.
Swamp Mama Johnson's concert in the park,
a blues-to-the-wall celebration of life and love,
was a saxaphoned shibboleth for offbeat orphans.
Homeless youth played hacky-sack in time;
a baglady danced with the little girl with Downs;
a camera rocked on the shoulders of the PBS man
--- Olympia gave hommage to ghosts in the gazebo.
Feb 25, 2012
Feb 25, 2012 at 4:59 PM UTC
Not so long ago we were made orphans Plucked form the family tree that grew us into a nation Phobia struck us like cholera Religion armed us against our brothers Leaders occupied with zero point agenda.
.
Blood, our special kind of rain poverty, the only completed government project Corruption, our newly designed flag And breath, our only hope.
.
Empty caskets call silently for our body As we shoved old bones to make room for new ones Our pain covered with GREEN and WHITE paints Pain, pain all over and over again.
.
We've found a new home Back in the ruins, where we came from Let's mske our tents,and forget fishing traps Because we might be here for an hundred while.
_Drunkpoet_
Jul 6, 2018
Jul 6, 2018 at 5:02 PM UTC