"requirement" poems
“Moby **** Herman Melville
<•>
~for the lost at sea~
after a year of saltwater absence and abstinence,
return to the island caught between two land forks
surrounded by river-heading flows
bound for the ocean great joining
the Atlantic welcomes the fresh water fools,
bringing with them hopefully, but hopeless gifts of obeisances,
peace-offerings endeavoring to keep their infinite souls
sea accepts them then drowns the
warm newcomers in the unaccustomed
deep cold salinity, which
sometimes erodes
sometimes preserving
their former freshwater cold originality
I’m called to depart my beach shoreline unarmed,
no kayak, sunfish or glass bottomed boat needed,
walk on water and my toes, ten eyes to see the bottom,
no depth perception limitation,
reading the floor’s topography,
millions of minion’s stories infinite,
many Munch screaming
god’s foot, heavy upon my shoulders,
a daytime travel guide, hired for me,
not a friendly travel companion, nope,
God a pusher showing off a drug called deep water salvation,
designated for the masses, can handle large parties
my in-camera brain eyes,
record everything for playback -
the lost and unburied, bone crossword puzzles
walk shore to ship, on soles to souls,
is this my new-summer nature welcome back greeting?
puzzled at the awesomeness of vastness,
conclude this clarification for me of the occluded-deep,
is a stern reminder of my insignificant existence,
my requirement to walk humbly, spare my sin of vanity, and
forgive my trespasses upon the lives of others
perhaps then the infinite of my soul perchance restored,
older visions clarified and future poems
will write themselves
and sea to it my predecessors
be better remembered
Memorial Day 2018
May 28, 2018
May 28, 2018 at 11:53 AM UTC
732
She rose to His Requirement—dropt
The Playthings of Her Life
To take the honorable Work
Of Woman, and of Wife—
If ought She missed in Her new Day,
Of Amplitude, or Awe—
Or first Prospective—Or the Gold
In using, wear away,
It lay unmentioned—as the Sea
Develop Pearl, and ****
But only to Himself—be known
The Fathoms they abide—
8.7k
Your tall body has always enticed me
Your long arms have kept me safe
Your scruffy beard makes me smile
And your smile makes me melt
Your hands hold mine and make me feel loved
And wipe away the tears
Enough of these superficial reasons
Your love has comforted me
Your humor has made me laugh
(Until I snort)
Your words have made smile
And cry
But always out of love
Your generosity
Has never left me empty handed
No matter how much I beg you
To keep your money for yourself
Your caring heart reminds me
I'm not alone
Somehow you stopped the shaking trembling in my anxious thoughts
You brought me back to reality
You stopped me from dying
You stopped me from hurting myself
You stopped me from starving
From expelling the contents of my stomach
But most of all you gave me hope
A reason to carry on
A reason to fight my mind
To tell the mirror it's a liar
To throw my blades away
And eat whatever I want
A reason to keep living
And to love myself
I know you don't feel good enough
But look at all this evidence
Change the criteria in your head
The requirement of "good enough"
Should only contain one thing
You
All you have to be is you
To be good enough for me
Because I ******* love you
Aug 21, 2014
Aug 21, 2014 at 12:02 AM UTC
food
the requirement of life
comes in all shapes and tastes
and smells and quantities
to the starving
a bowl of rice
the bottom barely covered
to the obese
a five-course meal
or piles of junk food
in bright packaging
the starving
celebrate their meals
in quiet concentration
each grain of rice
is tasted carefully
and chewed with care
extracting to the full its scant nourishment
the last one disappears
with unheard sighs
when junk food and the five-course meal
have long been finished
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 12:27 PM UTC
I've been focused on nutrition
sense before recognition
of a requirement of nutrients
for my life.
I eat for nutrition
I shunned the processed
chemical ick
a lifetime ago it seems
no longer remembering the taste
of chemically created
food stuffs.
though I know if I were to get a taste
it would satisfy my buds
they were made with my buds
in mind
hijacked my senses
lied and lied and lied
told my body it didn't need
nutrition
that is could live off of
intuition
and stuff in boxes
and bags
and cans
I've become my own food processor
now
I have mouths to feed
now I know what to feed
and where they make feed from
so we stick to the grass-fed
I'll teach them how to eat
even before how to read
its just how I see it
once that sugar laden
red
chemical construction
touches their lips
they will instantly desire more
Twain and Fitzgerald
will take them longer to digest.
so these are my priorities
now.
I am a nutrition seeker
a truth seeker
and I believe I come from
a line of healers
all who knew nutrition
is the key to life,
here.
the basic building blocks,
the amino acids
of life,
here.
when you're nourished
it all makes more sense
but stay out of those center aisles
their chemical composition
is too dense
my kidney could no longer clean
the code of food stuffs.
My strong little kidney
I'm so proud of it for
releasing its grip on its twin.
it wasn't for us anyways
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 7:10 PM UTC
one more for Joni and the one who accuses me of
"owning the courage to care so blatantly."
<:>
accused of writing with blatant courage,
a 4 credit requirement for caring
blatant is a word of merger -
open obvious unsubtle and unashamed
and a dissembling misleading one!
it is all of these and yet can be a contradictory mask of
opposing, differing faces
my blatant is none of these
but appearance only
**** muses keep me coming back
to a particular lyric,
keeps seeking me out, so successfully, wherever I go,
I hear it
it’s invading my both sides now
the dizzy dancing way you feel
you think I have my own blatant courage, untrue!
so oft you mistook my dizzy dancing,
all fluff all humbug so obvious so ashamed,
a cover up, a most subtle cosmetic pretense of the truth -
of
no courage at all
and yet (they mock)
you do care...
just another of my peculiar
life’s illusions
(self-delusions)
I really don’t have blatant courage at all
Jul 3, 2018
Jul 3, 2018 at 9:18 AM UTC
The purest sense of understanding that allows two hearts to move beyond the borders of the conscious, thinking mind.
Without the thoughts that twist the words, that distort perception; what is conveyed, is... is... unconditional acceptance and love. In this simple concept we find solace, we find connection, we reach the precipice of and stare in awe at the beauty of the humane soul. Everything seems perfect.
By this perfection, given face value, we draw the ever permanent distinction between what what is black and what is white; what is wrong and what is right; what is virtue and what is moral travesty. For inherent to humanity is the eagerness, bias and extremity with which we represent the good and evil of this world. For who would believe that the "caretaker", wrought of good intentions, could be soiled in his actions?
The caretaker that empathizes with the troubled or broken soul is a testament to the honesty of a human heart; but he who enables others with his empathy becomes not the caretaker, but the "jailer". Through his conviction to ALWAYS be there, to sooth the hurts, to understand the pains and to maintain control... by those actions, he belittles them. The relief of empathy is only temporary. Empathy does not enact change, it is mere salve and bandage, it quells the aches for but a moment. And when they return, in their woes, the service of the empathizer becomes requirement.
For though empathy may be needed, with the power to forge a bond of deep understanding, its indiscriminate use only stunts. Personal growth, it is found by many paths in this world. We must grow and mature; let others do the same. Life is a journey with many opportunities but also many hardships, we are defined by these. If we are stunted by the empathy of others, in their quest to protect us, we will never grow, never achieve that which is greater, and never leave our "prison".
Virtue or vice... once again in the hands of the beholder.
Nov 29, 2011
Nov 29, 2011 at 2:04 PM UTC
But where is the place for the people like us?
The artists, the cutters, the solemn observers.
Every INFJ. Every poisoned mind. Every social awkward with so much depth they just might sink.
The ones who have found their soul but are searching for their mind.
The ones who find their mind by losing their marbles.
The misrepresented and misunderstood.
The hurt and the happy.
With a requirement of so much patience and love that no one is willing or able to give.
The ones who make adjustments.
Who hit rock bottom and manage to get back up on their own.
The ones who fall too fast for something out of reach. They end up quietly crashing and burning.
The ones who are living under layers of paint; on their hearts and in their homes. Whose sweetness and innocence are buried somewhere underneath the paint, barely recognizable.
The ones who were born with a fifty year old soul.
Who have a biologically memorized speech that no one will hear; that no one can hear.
I ask you, where will they go, the people like us?
Dec 25, 2013
Dec 25, 2013 at 9:07 PM UTC
I see the rabbits feeding on the grass
My heart is filled with joy
Their life is precious
I see the vultures feeding on the rabbits
My heart is filled with joy
Their life is precious
That's what I never understood about coffins
Life is about expanding your prison cell as much as you can
There's no requirement to be contained once it's over
Our nutriance to the Earth
Is our nutrients into Earth
All creatures that die on this planet
Become a part of it
The Debt they paid to the future
The Debt that is always collected on
We travel nonchalantly on their corpses
Wishing they could appreciate
That each and every one of them
Was one step closer to sentience
This planet's passion project
Could the first single-celled organism
Comprehend my humiliation?
When the first creature walked on land
Was it anticipating my shame?
Did it sprout wings
To give me nightmares of dying in an airplane?
Did ancient Neanderthals dance around a fire
To reenact my adolescence?
Could mystic voodoo shaman
Cure my lack of agency?
Or did lost American tribesmen
Prophesize the complexities of my love?
I can feel all these ************* looking up at me from the ground
And it's just me
As I accidentally burn my notebook with a cigarette
May 29, 2017
May 29, 2017 at 12:01 AM UTC
~for the one who will know it was written for her~
muddy verb and adjective,
muddling and muddled
have you ever seen a pas de deux/deluxe,
one dancer, proscriptive,
and her partner, prescriptive?
the stage, of course,
exactly the width of your head,
from ear to shining ear
this couple o’muses dance en concert,
though their very natures are anti-logarithmic,
the value of their exponential activity is a
descriptive nomenclature
I am overly abstruse this Saturday morn,
mushing mathematics and ballet, verbal word games
as is my wont wanted,
everyone sleeping while I rise at 6am,
doing ablutions, seeking absolution,
pulling weeds from our respective gardens,
answering old friends I have yet to meet,
to whom I answer,
“still here, though long time no see,”
which is of course hysterical funny, inherently contradictory,
as the brain grasps well my
Red and Dead Sea brain cells, a splitting motif
muddling and muddled,
proscribed from getting on transport,
to deliver to you the proper healing prescriptive,
as if I had in my possess to diagnosis and correctly assess
even though one of my many passport names,
a requirement, to visit,
this inter-netting ether, that both combines and separates,
permits me safe passage,
over the historical lineage of borderlines of land and sea,
to deliver this message,
to you
woman
*I am here, waiting patiently, though long time
no see
like ever,
absentia, dementia,
both self-censure:
here, then, my cadenza,
dedicated solely soulfully for you,
as the sabbath sun rises over the East River,
saying, laughing unto me,
“still here, though long time no see,”
for though I cannot look upon her,
my sun, my sun, my son,
yet she, as well,
is everywhere-inside of me,
warmly illuminating
my muddled mind*
Mar 23, 2019
Mar 23, 2019 at 7:57 AM UTC
"Dawn"
I wonder where the prayers went...after years spent sitting in the darkness looking for a change that never came...it never came...and...
Where Is My Diamoonnnd!!!!???
All I Have is coal...
And why....
Why can't I have 3 wishes at least?...
Because change never came...it never came...
Only the Storm remained.
But when being present was a requirement, there transpired a lucid calm...
Mmm...
If only it could be grasped like bed sheets the night the Storm was conceived...
Oh I wish those knees could have been broken!!!...
So they wouldn't have opened to receive...seed...or conceive...
Forgive me..
I pray for a mime to be a fly on the wall of these thoughts!!
I pray the clouds part so the sun can shine and you find rest..
Because....
Everything's better when you are asleep...
Suffering through your Own nightmares...
What happened to the maternal instinct purposed to protect you, nurture you to a point of functionality?
Is there such thing as functional with you?...
Or
Did you wear out your place of origin to where you're no longer sought for or welcomed?
Was it a joy to desert such a never ending storm?
Is there no remorse?
Not for your abandonment...but for society...
No thought for the trail of derailed strangers who will never forget the name of the tornadic soul who impacted them tragically...?
Tragic....
Your calms last long enough to fall in love with the beauty in between..and it is so beautiful.
But...
Not long enough to prepare for your next season...and...
Why.....
Why won't you learn to warn your lovers?
So they may brace for...
Dawn...
Oh...
But...wait...
Look...
The sun...
The sun is coming...
The heavens still love me...
So...
Since the sun is out,
I love you...
Sweet dreams.
~Say Dat~
Apr 15, 2020
Apr 15, 2020 at 11:48 PM UTC
I adore women
I refuse to apologize for it
I like the way their voices squeak in the upper registers
I like the fashions
I like the makeup
I like the aromas
Not the silly runway catwalk Biz that relegates them as awkward mannequins
adorns them in the impractical
and cloaks them in the absurd overreaching of the tired clamoring for something
new and unique
that which exploits their lithesome anorexic perplexing job requirement
I like the way they can shape shift, alter and assume new identities
I like the fact that some have mood swings and ***
I marvel that they can give birth
I like being aware that their 'water-weight' make's them grumpy
I'm astonished that they innately ovulate with the cycles of the moon
and that the Huntress Diana inherently acquired her namesake
Doesn't bother me a bit that "it's a lady's prerogative to be late"
or that opening a door for them is considered 'sexist'
I was raised with a sister and a mother
with lace and dainty frilly things
I caused them a lot of aggravation and consternation
I think they enjoyed it - nonetheless
somewhat
I refuse to apologize for it
May 13, 2013
May 13, 2013 at 12:00 AM UTC
must love rainy days
adventure
pumpkin carving
and unexpected kisses
must be tolerant
of jimmy stewart
and bob dylan
the other men in my life
no height
weight
or hair color requirement
but big hearted weirdos
who smile for no reason
are always welcome
no
racist
sexist
homophobic persons
or those who say baby
as a term
of endearment
i like my coffee bitter
and my men sweet
never
the other way around
lopsided grins and kind eyes can get you everywhere
if similar in tempermant style or appearance to
the doctor
david bowie
mickey mouse
or jesus
please contact immediately
must be accepting of
raucous laughter
black and white films
cold feet
and occasional insomnia
i am always late
rarely refined
and have almost no perception
of the volume of my own voice
in junior high i asked a girl to stop picking on another child
she told me to go fly a kite
it was not until much later that i realized she was insulting me
not offering ideas
for an enjoyable way
to spend the afternoon
my hair is an untamable beast
but when fashioned properly
can be wrapped about my face
to create a rather fetching beard
i enjoy being scared
and am not easily so
unless you are a bug
i talk in my sleep
never know what day it is
and cry while reading good books
i just want
to hold your hand
in a crowded theatre
while we wait for the scene
at the end of the credits
and to be able to tell you
i love you
Aug 27, 2015
Aug 27, 2015 at 10:02 PM UTC
God knew, it would take a baby to make it his requirement.
One that was pure and innocent to represent us.
Unto us a child was born.
Unto us a son was given and the power of government would rest upon his shoulders.
He will embrace various names.
Wonderful, Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father and Prince of Peace.
And we today call him Messiah or Jesus.
Although many more, he could be called.
We aware his kingdom will last forevermore.
Unto us a child was born.
Who would lead us?
Who will guide us?
He was prophesied even before others believed.
And some doubt him because he was born of earth.
Instead of looking at his life and its purpose.
He the King of Kings.
And more royal because of his blood.
Many of us bow down to him not because of protocol.
But out of respect for him and his cause.
Yes, unto us a child was born.
Who grew up to be called Jesus?
Who grew up to be called Emmanuel?
Which is a name and not just a title.
Unto the world a child was given.
To show us our path to a new world.
Where judgment and sin simply won't exist?
Yes, unto us a child was born.
Dec 2, 2013
Dec 2, 2013 at 7:51 AM UTC
they are old friends of mine
self doubt, self hatred, self destruction
their black gaping eyes
look at me knowingly
their bodies vibrate and pulse like anxiety
blood pours from their mouths when they speak
they whisper quietly that I'll never be good enough
I can't make myself happy, they remind me
how could I ever make anyone else happy?
they smile and show sets of teeth between red
entering uninvited, late at night
screaming obscenities and mocking me
demanding my time and energy
reminding me of all my shortcomings and failures
moments in my life that I was not enough (or too much)
and every moment coming, with premonition
I seat them into my home
though my consent has never been a requirement
they drip and ooze into the carpet
leaving thickened black sludge
and back handed compliments
identifying my worth based on shouldn'ts and didn'ts
welcome, I tell them
though I don't want them here
stay as long as you need to
I barely mouth the sounds of a silent cry
they expand and fill the room
until I can no longer breathe and they crush me
underneath their weight, and remind me I did this
to myself -- I welcomed them in, after all
I created them, I brought them here, and they are
mine
Jul 31, 2018
Jul 31, 2018 at 5:27 PM UTC
We are all touch but no desire
For in each other's arms
We are blissful
With no wish, no requirement
To take it further.
We make love without making love
My base lusts sated
In the caress of your long limbs
Your hair soft in my fingers
Lips brushing cheeks and hands
And we entwine in each other
At home in the scent of warm skin.
A deeper love than I ever knew
We are inside of each other
Without secrets or falsehoods
Our souls naked
To our perceptive eyes.
We are utterly beautiful
In our private universe
Born of night and long drives
And words.
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 9:31 PM UTC
*** a knife in my chest,
Not a day I rest.
My anxiety is too high,
I have not a clue why.
They threw a book at my face,
And expected me to work at their pace.
All of a sudden work became too much to handle,
I sit in mental agony, trembling with a melted candle.
it seems unjust, unfair,
To now have me decide; to fully care.
I am baffled as to why there was a requirement,
I feel trapped inside an isolated environment.
Did they ask about my feelings?
Did they wonder what I knew?
Did they care I favored my abilities over theirs?
Did they realize this much is true?
The book beside me is relentless,
It motions for me to work day after day,
But I sit there with stress raging over me,
Will I be okay?
I try and I try,
To greatly improve in this never-ending book of lies,
For an outstanding score,
And the disappearance of my sighs.
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 4:38 PM UTC
nothing's instantaneous
temperance a requirement
change forever targeted
til self becomes fragmented
heart an aqueous soluble
erstwhile deliquescent
puddled into pulp
taken out like trash
fitting for an adversary
malicious and malevolent
destructive to the starling
plucked and plunged to sea
so drown to suffocation
laudable attempts at termination
inundate your consciousness
using barrages of indifference
convinced affection's unattainable
death deserted and companionless
auspicious in my loneliness
asphyxiate to expiration
Aug 30, 2018
Aug 30, 2018 at 4:28 PM UTC
My eyes smell sleepy, he, refusing to depart,
But there is coffee on the nightstand,
The odor, infiltrating the dozy brain's heart.
Annoyed with each other,
They shout and fight
Like teenage siblings Commissioners at the SEC,
Arguing over bathroom monopolization,
The tongue stays sidelined, feigning net neutrality.
The bed smells empty,
For the **** has crowed,
Yogi David commands your presence
At Saturday morning Eight O'clock yoga services.
To get to his Sinai on time,
Early departure, an FAA requirement,
Car, ferry and foot you will deploy,
In the winter, special skis and snowshoes,
That blessed by his mantra,
Enable you to walk on water.
In the kitchen there is sisterly conversation,
Yes, puttering and muttering and discussing,
Sister's grown child texting, he's making the pilgrimage
To see Mama, alone, unexpectedly,
Six hours driving.
Friends and countryman,
That is how you spell t-r-o-u-b-l-e
Sleepy master dwarf refuses to concede,
Says when kitchen noises retreat,
Back to him you will supplicate,
They (the other dwarfs and body parts),
Have a big convention to better communicate..
Departure comes without a kiss,
But not without complaint,
She always says I love you first,
Which is natural,
She being a girl.
Now the bladder starts to whiny~chatter,
What about me, what about me,
Don't you love me, and me rhymes with P!
While the stomach quietly snores
Have been well-fed
but a few hours before,
He dreams of some more....macadamia crusted s'mores...
I could verse you more,
No problem that's for sure,
But you got the point:
The morning smells.
Jul 6, 2013
Jul 6, 2013 at 7:18 AM UTC
Strangely timed
like a midnight rose
but this baby's breath breathes life
vibrant, visceral, vivacious
a requirement in this environment
for corporeal sustenance
maintaining and sustaining subsequent substances
and for which
no substitute exists.
nor should one.
for if this is that
without which
anguish persists permeating the vastness
clearly packing voidish absence
reminding that reciprocity not animosity
makes connectivity the activity
then why bother with formality?
or try to deny reality?
Grateful nostrils more easily discern
Scents that sting and scents that burn
Aided by proximity to incense intense senses
lives sweeten with flowers' presence
sweet airs and flowery essence
but there's hesitance in this instance
careful to engage or allow mental enrapture
one must gauge potential fracture
for roses have thorns
And I fear morning glory's scorn
despite wonders of its consumption born
that of which misgivings warn.
But know this
Golden lotus:
Let us lattice.
Let us, lotus,
Don't pass thus.
Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 4:40 PM UTC
since the end of December 2013
a sad pall has engulfed out village
residents continually
have tears in their eyes
people we've respected and loved
are suddenly dying
yet another of our village folk
we laid to rest to-day
so may souls taken
in such a short period of time
all of them relatively young of age
we're shocked
we're in a state of disbelief
how can a village
bear the endless grief
of recent time
our village only hears
news of demise
we're in requirement
of brighter tidings
to lift the dolefulness
from our village skies
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 9:27 AM UTC
Life molds you into a shapeshifting mess.
One stumbles through different tribulations, and the soul diversifies as the years pass.
You turn into different versions of yourself.
It’s like treading through hell, but you taste heaven at the same time.
It’s not a choice, it’s a requirement.
Its like drinking liquid gold. The concept is luxurious, but it kills you so deliberately.
A beautiful solemnity?
Emotions so immense.
It hurts so much to breathe, to exist, yet you need to stay, you stay because of love. We suffer to exert empathy. Love is the cutlass that impales deeply.
It cuts far, it makes you bleed profusely, but it feels so good.
It just feels so good.
Is there a point to it all in the very end?
Happiness seems temporary. Chasing it is like the drop you feel when the veil is pulled from under your foundation; long, scary.
Happiness is the rarest paragon.
The heart, heavy and the mind, full.
Wondering day after day.
Who will understand me, touch me, sense me.
Wonder, keep wondering.
Wonder possesses you.
Wonder keeps watching you.
Wonder doesn’t let go, it comes to watch you die.
That’s the why, that’s the death.
Life will never give you an answer.
Nov 20, 2021
Nov 20, 2021 at 1:54 PM UTC
quanta is better understood outside of physics,
on a grander scale -
quantum is a quality suggestion that
makes two (to, too) things auto-suggestive
as pertaining in the matter -
never mind - take the concept of quanta
out of physics and you get
a man readying himself for a controlled
coma having his wisdom teeth removed,
with the anaesθetician asking about
the readers' digest, the patient replying
quo vadis? / dokąd idziesz? then
the great sleep plateau - 'where are you going?'
puts any man off, whether boxer,
or paediatrician - ****** lays dead floored
for a minute, plays the dog game: play dead,
tongue hanging ready for a guillotine.
CHOP! and there goes the tail of a Doberman
(jamnik / dachshund on stilts)
and a ρoττł-
y
woo woo woo chim chimney
cha cha cha ooh
the rotting wail - rottweiler -
-ειλερ;
you never mention the u with the v due to
the chisel ease, then again, you don't
say double-o'h but say double u -
too shay frowning at a shave;
****** i'll make your language my playground
given all these post-colonial ***** aiming
for a signature and credentials,
this **** could pass the London brigade,
but take it to York, it would be a massacre
of a bureaucratic lapse of credentials...
a viking invasion more-or-less;
oh **** quantum physics, Charles Dickens
and the Victorian Era - Jack the Ripper the antonym,
both are the desired cages of energy requiring expression
to make testimony that such an age existed,
a particular congregate of expression, never universal,
boxes and pockets, however much inside one
is a question of your dietary requirement,
quantum physics is better explained with history
than hard science, and atoms, or the craze of subs,
people need a bigger picture, not everyone own
a ******* microscope or a telescope,
teach quantum physics using history:
Philippe Augustus of France mattered,
at the Battle of Bouvines - Otto IV? not so much.
Jun 26, 2016
Jun 26, 2016 at 7:45 PM UTC
Whether drops of dew
Able diminish fire spark up in our home land?
Whether rice boil in well-off houses
Served the requirement of subjugated one of our home land?
Whether peace installed in meeting hall
Spread to countryside of our home land?
Everyone is in shrunken
With devastation malevolence’s follower,
Who dream that, they will make everything golden!
Therefore, my grandmother said
“We are just with soil, water and air
Don’t dream about gold or silver, it will wipe out your vigour to survive!
Go for vocation to nurture soil;
Bring in water, profoundly breath air...
You will grow along with other!”
Dec 25, 2014
Dec 25, 2014 at 3:36 AM UTC