"ramp" poems
A new day, press play, a challenge for one.
Solo for I, never won.
Spawned like magic, 100 people? That’s tragic.
Less would I prefer,
From the bus, I jump and glide
From the wailing heights, I go to a bush and hide.
Found a camp, a player I’ve tramped,
One closer to being a champ.
Many people less, beginning to stress,
Loot everywhere, what a mess!
In this battle, I thought I would be fine,
But in the distance, I saw a white line,
With the numbers of sixty-nine,
A soccer skin! A soccer skin! Oh God, oh why?
Building fast as the speed of light,
All I knew that it could be a hard fight.
Because, with death in my mind, I didn’t know what to do,
Thoughts boggled up, like the texture of goo.
I placed a trap on the wall of wood,
I waited suddenly, wondering when they would,
Yes! I caught them with my trap!
One closer to being a champ.
Found a vehicle of an interesting shape,
Bouncy like a ball, all around, on the landscape,
A Baller! Yes! Now I’m glad,
But no need to use it, I got a launchpad!
However, I could bounce around, Boom! Bam! and Pow!
Then I could tell them, “who’s laughing now?”
However now, I’m in the final two,
I shot his build down, if only he knew,
Now it is over, show off with a ramp,
Now I’ve become the champ.
May 23, 2019
May 23, 2019 at 8:26 PM UTC
***If I were a Rainbow
The children would run to me
Turning upside down, I would be an iridescent swing,
The children would mount my rainbow wing
Swaying high up in the starry skies ascending on the moon
The children do bunny jumps, counting stars till noon
Awestruck and desirous they pick a few
The colours pink purple orange magenta and blue
Swaying down to the flower garden
They would pick flowers from the boughs laden
Threading in a star and a flower into an ornamental garland
Adorned as neckpieces , running around ,making one happy land
If I were a Rainbow
I would dismember all the semicircles making one hula hoop
The children would gleefully twirl and sway into the enormous loop
If I were a Rainbow
I would become one big ramp
The children would joyously roller skate up and down
Lighting up the ramp
If I were a Rainbow
And all of these came true
I would turn upside down making one radiant smile across the sky
The children would happily smile back at me , waving me good bye***
Aug 25, 2017
Aug 25, 2017 at 11:49 PM UTC
Sometimes maybe the dreams should
go away
--What do you dream about?
Last night I dreamt I journeyed
into that dark part of the city
where even hard-armed truck drivers
refuse to unload alone.
It was late. Street lights knifed
the false dawn and wet sidewalks
shivered off shards of glass.
Perhaps I had come there for a pack
of cigarettes
or maybe I had a message to deliver.
It was dark. I was dreaming. I knew
I was dreaming. When they met me
outside
at the bottom of the long ramp
and told me all the stores were closed,
then I could see the bars across the door
and the sign that said, open at seven.
It all seemed too obvious
but I had found some friends
and they didn't seem to mind the
long walk back to my car.
This was only a dream, after all,
so it came as no surprise
how my blood drenched the dark pavement.
I waited for flowers to bloom or butterflies
to rise from the spot, but
nothing happened.
I think I killed them then,
but it's not clear how I
got to to the soft lights
of an all-night drugstore
and cuddled up between the rows
of witch hazel and staionary supplies.
--Is this what you dream?
This is what I dream. I have yet to find
a satisfactory substitute for the warmth
of sleep, so I dream.
Jul 21, 2018
Jul 21, 2018 at 2:08 PM UTC
it is
an impossibility
to have a foot
in two camps
for those who choose
to have divided loyalties
there is
no bridging ramp
either they are friend or foe
they cannot have
a toe
in both boroughs
Aug 4, 2013
Aug 4, 2013 at 1:09 AM UTC
Do not aspire to be a ramp model,
Strive to be the perfect role model.
Jan 23, 2017
Jan 23, 2017 at 11:49 AM UTC
I walk along a path
I do not know
But falter left nor right,
And, welcoming the light
Of birches, still and white
As sleeping snow,
A raven, coat that shimmers
Soft as coal,
Beside me flutters square
And, drawn like to a snare,
Alights upon the air
As on a knoll.
A ripened chestnut, trapped
Within his maw
And hard as ancient ice,
Is tightened by the vise
And shatters at the slicing
Of his jaw
To crumble into dust,
Which quick cascades
And settles, as it slows,
To carefully compose
The shape of raven toes
Where he parades.
The raven flies ahead
And, with a stamp,
His talons take a grip
Atop a wooden tip
Of birches, dead and stripped
To form a ramp.
I stumble after, fixed
Through field of black
As in a telescope,
And, clawing at the slope,
I climb it with a hope
To touch his back
And ****** a hand ahead
Just as he slumps,
Both limp but stiff, to lie
Upon his side and die.
I meet his cloudy eye
Upon the stump,
Then lift my head to find
A willow sprig,
A tendril hanging free
For me to grip. Indeed,
I climb the strip of tree,
The little twig,
And swivel in the air,
As if by choice.
I hear a humming, low,
Resounding from below—
The raven’s eyes, aglow
With Odin’s voice.
Like lightbulbs flicker, dim
with yellow light,
They sharpen with the tones
That bellow from his bones—
This god and poet moans
His heavy spite:
He damns me to the lifetime
of a bird.
My sin, I do not know
But bear the bitter woe
And close my eyes to focus
On this word:
Saṃsāra. So I feel my
Senses spill
Upon the ground
And flood out all around
And swallow every sound
Till all is still.
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 5:50 PM UTC
Daughter of an American restaurateur,
She breathed in fashion's golden age,
On the ramp, she was hot like wildfire.
A playgirl, she likely broke a million hearts,
Prancing on a hundred beds in her life,
Of course sharing with hundreds her arts.
Also engaged in doing drugs just so often,
Not caring even a bit about the sterility,
Oh, how she shared syringes and needles.
Be successful - but never ever like her.
Nov 6, 2016
Nov 6, 2016 at 2:04 AM UTC
Running down that Ecstasy Highway
as fast as my little legs can carry me
I'm blind as a bat with ear plugs
But we were both
searching through this night time
skyway
reaching out to touch some one
and be touched.
All the guide books said this is the way,
turn right at Desire
turn left at Oblivion
and head on down
to the
neon lights, you can't miss it
as long as you are riding that
Ecstasy Highway.
I was told
some people find it at the end of a needle
others wait for the drop of the cards
and there are those who throw themselves
off that mountain side cliff looking for the winds to ride.
Some find it laying with you.
I've gone somewhere else I can't describe
made a wrong turn
thought it was a Transcendental highway
maybe
because I've been up and down,
made wrong turns right and left
made a wrong turn
at the corner of Sanctuary and Bliss.
I'd ask directions but there is not a soul around,
smacking my GPS
lost beyond words
with nothing familiar
in
neighborhoods looming
stark cracked out buildings
and
broken street lights
people with apocalyptic eyes
even the cops won't come down here any more
and the only help I've found
the only guide I have
is delusional and lost
though occasionally profound
dressed in piercings and tatoos
and she keeps yelling at me
something about going home to you.
Too tired to go on.
Had lost that bat back at the beginning of dawn
finally sat down at the coffee shop
at the corner
of
Love and Compassion
ordered up some hot self-acceptance
took a breath and looked around
still looking for the way back home.
I know it's just down the road
a stop light or so
maybe there's an on ramp
or a sign pointing out the way
to get back
on that
Ecstasy Highway.
I stopped at a gas station
talked to a guy
who told me lefts and rights
but my eye lids fluttered
fell asleep
right when he told me what I wanted to know
and when I opened my eyes
the station was closed
not a soul around
and I was running down
unfamiliar roads.
So if you hear a small lost voice
in the night
that's probably the sound of me
standing at the crossroads
of
Self-pity and Remorse
knocking at the Post Office
trying to mail these words
at a place that been long closed.
Please give me a hug or two
and send me on my way
if you give me any advice
I probably won't hear a word you say.
You see
I'm trying to make my way
back again
to that
Ecstasy Highway.
Mar 31, 2014
Mar 31, 2014 at 9:50 AM UTC
*///
A rough ramp,
too many edged stones on the surface
she is walking on the ramp with booted a high pencil heel
we see her speed, her fashion
we say that it's her smartest move
even her body language shows the beauty
but it's true that one of us sitting there doesn't care her at all
The flowers are on the fire,
blooming throughout the garden
too many colors, coloring the spring
so much aroma appealing around
either the bees are buzzing or not
growing itself through the nature
either we are caring those or not
Birds are flying around the sky
they are highly ambitious
sometimes they fly over the dark clouds
yet they are unclogging their feathers throughout the sky
until the clouds are breaking into the water
showing that they don't care about the height of the heaven
even you see their stunning diving or not
When it's an amazing raining
maybe you are walking toward the horizon
who is shining sharply within the rainbow?
the little boy is enjoying through the window!
its a playful beauty beyond
It doesn't care about thee
either we are looking, caring or not
Boys are barefooted,
walking on the broken glasses,
bleeding blood on the floor
making spot on the spaces
they are running within the daydreams
now they don't care about anything
**** we never wish to care them at all
///
Musfiq us shaleheen*
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 7:09 AM UTC
An ad in the LA Times
Pictured a jewelry store in Beverly Hills
Somewhere off Wilshire
A golden band modeled after an Egyptian original
Mother wanted it and so we went
We sat on tuffets of crushed velvet and
She bought it
replacing her wedding band
Which I never did find.
It was pretty but
what other significance this meant
regarding her husband she did not tell
She was struck walking on an off-ramp
on the 10.
Heading east?
How did she get there?
I asked her in the hospital
On the gurney she shook her head
And said she didn’t know.
That’s Alzheimer’s for you.
The ring is gone.
Father took his off well before she passed
and left it on the top of his dresser.
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 5:36 PM UTC
Latin love to be called ******* we pick fruits and vegetables for a living.
We latins love cleaning toilets and floors and being maids in rich households.
Latins steal what ever ain't tied or sealed to something in rich homes we work as maids in.
Latins are mainly janitors or mechanics.
Latins got a natural instinct to run when we don't have a a green card from the border patrol.
Latins love being migrant workers.
Latins dance and have *** all day.
Latins don't believe in birth control and our population is growing faster than one of my other cultures asians.
We latins think our skin is not brown we closer to white and bleach our hair blonde.
We latins love mooch off all and not pay back what we borrow.
We love drugs and make them and sell them in our ghettos.
We live in small houses with hundreds of family and other latins living in only one room.
Latins favorite foods are tacos not like ones taco bell makes.
Latins are lazy.
Latins come to America to get welfare and make their babies legal immigrants.
My latin uncles cell fruit on the freeway off ramp when they aint out doing drugs and scamming money off someone.
Latins come to America love working as day laborers to get a day of pay then don't got back to work cause they lazy.
Dec 26, 2013
Dec 26, 2013 at 8:15 AM UTC
We wear our helmets
Together with our suits for race
I am the driver
You are my co-driver
Buckle up! Seat belts on
We're ready to race
Radio's on, I let you decide on which station
Ready? Get set. Let's start the chase!
We start smoothly
Our gear's not even on three
I step up the gas
Let's speed up and fast!
I don't really see the need to rush
But since we're on the track
Better give it our best shot
Or else we'll lose the bout
Also, there are competitors
Whose pace we can't help but to compare
They have such high scores
Which subconsciously became our goal
Then came rough roads
I swerve from left to right
We go off road
Several times
A **** after a ****
Seems like an under-construction ramp
"Watch out!"
And then a bump
Blood and bruises
Filled our faces
You looked at me with so much blame
But, hey, isn't this a tag-team game?
Sure, I was the one holding the steering wheel
But you were my co-driver, sitting at the passenger seat
You were the one in charge to navigate
To follow your instructions was all I did
I admit I had troubles as well
Insecurities, jealousy made me tremble
I felt I made an impossible gamble
But, I am very sorry, I am human after all
I cannot see your tears
You're not that easy to read or I'm just bad at it
But I have to take a guess
You're very sorry as well
We looked into each other and we had the hint
We had to change our views for this trip
Ah, I know what action would fit
We smile as we said, "In this race, we quit."
I started the engine
And we buckled up again
We quit the race, but we didn't quit our journey
We'll continue slowly but surely, as we enjoy the sceneries
We've had enough of contests
Championships that never had any winner
Championships that only brought stress
It's not the destination, but the journey which matters
If ever in case you resign as my co-driver, however
I'll probably hire another
After forever?
Or I'll just also quit as a driver
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 4:20 AM UTC
a third-pound of ground beef
and a pile of diced ramp bulbs
I laced it with steak seasoning
rolled in about a handful
ain't got no time for fancy buns
so I thought that instead
of dressing up a masterpiece
I'd put it on some bread
...and it was good
Apr 21, 2016
Apr 21, 2016 at 5:45 PM UTC
I was moving out
Parked my bike down the street
With a cart hinged on the bolt beneath the rusty pole
connected to my seat.
The yard was steep, and the stairs leading down
the front
Vanished each car-
go carrying trip
of dictionaries and travel guides that
could have been lumped together in boxes
separately tossed into the neon
green
synthetic fiber
rain-proof buggy
Connected to my seat.
I ran across the lawn, one last time
Buckling the watch I found from high school
remembering it’s broken and not caring
then I saw men wearing polos beneath
Greek symbols beneath a doorway
and held my breath as they stared at me.
This vacant lot held something which I carried back
to find
my bike was gone, replaced
by a life-sized depiction of a bike saying
“no bikes--” A girl inside, explaining where I could find mine
I walked down the grey spiral of handicapped access ramps
surrounded by aquariums or tvs
which comprised the store's interior.
The last ramp faced an exit and went straight past
refrigerators next to vending machines
In the alley behind this office supply store were two old men
Roasting my bike on a chain beside the others
Disconnected, hung
its tires lying on the ground beside their feet
and the carriage slung aside like a bloodied gazelle's neck.
“What the ****
A woman got into my face “don’t use that word”
***** a perfectly good word, after all, it’s how we
got here”
One man smiled.
He felt bad.
They helped me put the bike together and I walked it back to my house.
I saw my car down the street.
I thought about the long trip to the interstate and wondered why I’d
rode my bike
Then I went back up the stairs of the blue sided hill,
to see the roommate I hated
and thought about stealing his SNES and stereo
but took only my one possession
and walked past rotting turkey bacon in a plastic pouch
on the top of a table
beside some legos
and left.
Apr 22, 2012
Apr 22, 2012 at 1:21 PM UTC
Disturbances, however hard they try,
Will always be horrifying.
Now alarming is just the thing,
To get me wondering if disturbances are atrocious.
The ramp is not nonthermal!
the ramp is exceptionally nonthermal.
A ramp is hot. a ramp is nonthermal,
a ramp is caloric, however.
hardships are not lean!
hardships are exceptionally zoftig.
Do hardships make you shiver?
do they?
Don't belive that gales are big?
gales are little beyond belief.
Now unimportant is just the thing,
To get me wondering if gales are shrimpy.
I cannot help but stop and look at depressing tornadoes.
Do tornadoes make you shiver?
do they?
Cyclones, however hard they try,
Will always be traumatic.
Never forget the harmful and painful cyclones
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 8:08 AM UTC
Hippos in crates
On rollerskates
Crashing through
the rickety gates.
Crashing and bashing.
Oooooooooooh, how Smashing!
Rolling about
Their teeth a-flashing!
Running amuck!
Watch out for the duck.
Open the doors!
Back up the truck!
Zipping up the ramp
Like any old champ.
There they go!
Don't forget the stamp.
Crates in the mail!
Delivered without fail.
Those Hippos on skates
Lurching down the trail.
Oct 27, 2010
Oct 27, 2010 at 3:27 PM UTC
For Basil@Egmont
Old school hotelier, conservationist, mountain man.
Festooning drapes of weeping moss
Hang damply from the trees
Cascading lengths of dripping fern
Bring wetness to your knees
The clutching boughs of gnarled branch
The olive greens and damp
The winding path meanders up
This mountain's rocky ramp
Grey boulders in the river bed
The rush of torrents fast,
The song of falling waters
Plummeting into the past.
The flash of brilliant plumage
A blue kingfisher in a dive
And the tragic death of this field mouse
Means other creatures stay alive.
The mammoth mountain hangs above
The snow is clean and white
The cornice shadow aqua blue
Ridge ice is sunlight bright
The summit wind is blowing hard
The snow is curling round
To recreate a billowed crown
Atop that seaward mound.
A dancing *** is eyeing me,
Impossibly it clings
Inverted from a totara trunk
With rapid flitting wings.
Exploding from it's hiding place
A ponderous pigeon *****
And weaves it's way between the boughs
With noisy wing tip slaps
The magic of this secret place
Is the drama in the air,
The solitude of teeming life
In green-ness everywhere.
The hardness of the freezing night
The harshness of the wind,
The grandeur of it's wilderness
Paints splendor as it's sin.
Taranaki's goblin forest
Is resplendent in it's garb
Of emerald green and turquois-ness
And rugged rocks and shard,
Cascading rivers, waterfalls
In sweeping walls of trees
Where pools of still transparency
Bring you breathless to your knees.
Where Egmont's goblin forest
Will make your spirits sing
And the urge to climb another mile
Will reward you with something
You had not bargained for in visiting
This remote and splendid place,
......It will reward you with a warm,
And knowing smile upon your face.
Marshalg
Dawson Falls Romantic Hotel
Mt. Taranaki
15th September 2008
Dec 10, 2009
Dec 10, 2009 at 8:28 PM UTC
*this day was no different than any other,
as we went through the tunnel onto the highway,
I think back to this mornings homily,
how the deacon spoke of this city's cross on the mountain,
I hung onto the rosary beads around my neck,
as if I was still looking for some answers,
and as ignored the smell of exhaust fumes,
as they mixed with the scent of chain smokers,
like a disastrous duo,
and focused my body outside the car window,
clenching my rosary beads I saw the cross on the mountain,
Holding them up the the window,
my cross covered the one on the mountain like it was its lost child.
for five minutes I felt like I had nothing to ask anyone,
I felt like my life was okay,
we drove into another tunnel,
and took a right on the exit ramp,
I never felt more peace in my life,
then I did as we drove home
that night,*
Jan 3, 2016
Jan 3, 2016 at 12:53 PM UTC
When my poems trend
How do they trend
Liked and loved
Lovely comments
Oh the perceptions
And my replies
Love them all
I post ,
Poets and poetesses
Friends
Do the reposts
Oh wow ,
I love the
Merry go Round
And then
The poem shines
On the front page
Alas !!!!
Graded yes Graded
Don't like that at all
A Big Sigh
As it's Snakes and ladders
All the time
And then comes
The great slide
Wow !!!
what a smooth ride
down the ramp
Zoom ....... it slips down
By the time I check
It's like Humpty Dumpty
Had a great fall
And ................,,,,
Couldn't put Humpty Dumpty
Lol Lol Lol .........
Oh I did love the
Merry go Round
Yet the slide ride down
Wasn't bad at all
Nov 5, 2017
Nov 5, 2017 at 1:52 AM UTC
Look at how fast they grow,
the last you saw them was in a pram,
and now they are as tall to walk on the ramp.
They were the ones to ask you what to do,
they looked for your guidance when they were two.
look how fast they have grown!
now they tell you what to do when you're on your own.
They look after you like you looked after them,
they are now the guardians that you were to them.
I'm talking about the little ones who used to crawl,
They would make you cry and gauge at your eye *****
Each of them a menace for all ounce of their breath,
To pull your hair like they were meant to stretch!
They are my baby brothers who I had sworn to protect,
But now they are strong enough to fly out the nest.
Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 2:10 AM UTC
At a time where it seems so very hard, for me just to feel alive.
all I wanted then, was to drive
As ridiculous as it seems
it was the stuff of my dreams
all I needed was my car and vacant 4am roads.
Going through the gears, as if they were my final years
piston tatted-ring finger; hand firmly wrapped around the wheel
braking late into the corner
locking up the alloy steel wheels on my automobile
the tires squeal
waltzing them back into rotation as I find the threshold
clutch in
twist of the leg at the hip, I blip the throttle with my heel
down into second
one swift movement
un-burnt fuel erupts in the pipes.
blitzing through the off ramp
keeping it tight, clipping the manhole cover in the apex
pedal flat coming out, bounce the tach' as its not worth the upshift
pitch the car into the long sweeping overpass bend
the back end kicks out on decel'
counter steer and slam the accelerator back into the bare metal floor
front wheels clawing in the direction that I please
keys slapping my knees
straighten out and I ease her back home.
reverse down into the narrow; dimly lit garage
as I climb out, I can feel the heat radiating from the machine I built
hot oil ticking as it finds its way back to the pan
I stand and watch my car slowly disappear behind the garage door
it is but another night survived
for both of us.
Sep 18, 2017
Sep 18, 2017 at 1:47 AM UTC
i fantasize about stomping on the gas,
hitting the accelerator
as i approach the on-ramp
for the 408,
launching like a rocketship
headed straight for outer-space.
careen into the concrete
headlong—
scatter my brains
and body-parts across the wall
like a ******* splatter painting.
as lights blur together above me,
my head goes hazy,
dazed in this fugue state,
half-awake and thinking absently
of the city-lights
drifting listlessly overhead
like unidentifiable flying objects,
hovering over this interstate.
i wish they'd beam me up.
kidnapped by aliens,
taken to a galaxy far, far away
so i could forget
the contours of your face.
Mar 11, 2017
Mar 11, 2017 at 12:51 AM UTC
Fashion designer Manav Gangwani feels that the Hindi film industry acts as a catalyst for the Indian fashion industry.
He believes that since Bollywood has a huge fan base, it helps in getting a designer’s brand recognised.
Gangwani says the Indian couture industry has significantly evolved over the past years and it is the responsibility of the fashion fraternity to keep this evolution constant. “Over the years, I have always added a modern twist to the silhouettes in my couture collections. The couture industry has significantly evolved over the past years. I think it is important that we keep this evolution constant,” Gangwani said in an earlier occasion.
The designer, who has styled Bollywood stars like Hrithik Roshan, Kangana Ranaut and Aishwarya Rai Bachchan, believes that associating with such celebrities does a world of good to a designer’s creations.
“Bollywood certainly acts as a catalyst for the Indian Fashion industry in terms of retail. In one way or another, the designers prefer to commercially dress up a celebrity outfit for a film rather than showcasing it exclusively on the ramp. Since Bollywood has millions of followers, the brand recognition through it goes a long way,” Gangwani told in an interview.
The designer, who also had the honour of dressing the King Of Bhutan Jigme Khesar Namgyel Wangchuck, shared that the “potential customers are more discerning than ever and have a growing penchant for exclusivity”.
The growing couture industry has set high standards for aspiring designers and that intense competition makes designers put their best work forward, he added.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-brisbane | www.marieaustralia.com/black-formal-dresses
Aug 2, 2016
Aug 2, 2016 at 12:34 AM UTC
I am Blasianic(black, asian, latin mix) part 2
Latin love to be called ******* we pick fruits and vegetables for a living.
We latins love cleaning toilets and floors and being maids in rich households.
Latins steal what ever ain't tied or sealed to something in rich homes we work as maids in.
Latins are mainly janitors or mechanics.
Latins got a natural instinct to run when we don't have a a green card from the border patrol.
Latins love being migrant workers.
Latins dance and have *** all day.
Latins don't believe in birth control and our population is growing faster than one of my other cultures asians.
We latins think our skin is not brown we closer to white and bleach our hair blonde.
We latins love mooch off all and not pay back what we borrow.
We love drugs and make them and sell them in our ghettos.
We live in small houses with hundreds of family and other latins living in only one room.
Latins favorite foods are tacos not like ones taco bell makes.
Latins are lazy.
Latins come to America to get welfare and make their babies legal immigrants.
My latin uncles cell fruit on the freeway off ramp when they aint out doing drugs and scamming money off someone.
Latins come to America love working as day laborers to get a day of pay then don't got back to work cause they lazy.
Dec 27, 2013
Dec 27, 2013 at 4:06 AM UTC
she weaved a tapestry of notions for me
on the lower level of grand central station
it had rained that night
my jacket retained its damp warmth of summer storm
we ran down the long ramp
past the times square express
to that bench
where she sits tonight
weaving dreams
and avidly talking to friends
by the track where we used to catch the train
to that sleepy little town with the apple orchard
and blueberry farm
near hartford
we had wandered all night along the wet humid streets
and talked about everything under the sun
and a few things over it too
just holding hands and walking
laughing and whispering
i was a young man
you were a young woman
we had the world at our feet
we were everything to eachother
under the sun
and a few things over it as well
tonight she weaves a tapestry of notions for me
in the lower level of grand central
while i rock my childs crib in the bahamas
she talks to her friends
who allways are sitting just there
tho they have all long since gone
her imagination they are allways there
the notion is that no matter where you go
you will allways be loved
Jun 24, 2013
Jun 24, 2013 at 2:15 PM UTC