"spanned" poems
A halo of transfigured light.
spanned the hills and autumn gold
of scores of aspen groves
basking in the morning sun.
But what is this thing we call a rainbow?
For all our science talk of vapor,
refraction and angle of the sun
we surrender still in willing captivity
to its beauty, mystery and myth.
Rainbows beguile by their fleeting rarity
as ephemeral as life itself -
temporal blessings suspended in time
unintended and undeserved,
spectral bridges between here and there -
between what is and what should be.
Nov 11, 2016
Nov 11, 2016 at 9:11 AM UTC
They drove me across the country,
from the busy city where we departed
to intimate villages where they recessed,
and spent a star filled, moonlit night
singing songs,
their bodies casting long, wavy shadows
from campfires they huddled around.
Just as I got too cold and my wheels
couldn't turn anymore
did they finally turn the spark plugs,
revving and igniting my despair and sensitivity
producing heat.
Sometimes they pushed
until I shoved
and scraped my rubber
on asphalt,
on rocks,
on sand,
on boulders big and small,
and I hit a flat-line;
the air I could hold in
no longer.
They rode me into a forest
whose undergrowth was as thick
as a bears' fur during the winter,
and redwood that spanned the horizon
you thought it could pat the constellations.
A forest teeming with life that
one would react like Wendy from Peter Pan--
never wanting to leave Neverland.
And I could see it in their
soft faces and squinting eyes,
bright and lit up with joy,
every detail apparent
as if I burst my headlights into high-beam,
directly on them.
It was there I ran out
of gas and my engines
parched for oil,
from the endless adventure
that was exhilarating and memorable.
One could, as a result,
easily forget responsibilities.
There was no service or refill station nearby,
so I was abandoned where I parked,
flat tires, rusty hood, broken chassis,
dilapidated suspension.
I've proved my worth
from when I was brought in
and over time
it wasn't enough.
Only repairing, never maintaining.
Dec 15, 2014
Dec 15, 2014 at 2:11 AM UTC
The gentle reaches of the late afternoon sun
I'd bathe in this light abundant reverie
Swaying breeze... Caressing the web we've spun
In the warmth of this amber coloured spree...
Shades of gold, stretch beyond observable measure
My vision could only take me so far
Shining through between the green and azure
As if the window of heaven left slightly ajar.
Swathed in the glow... Laying on a bed of green
Eyes closed... Under the blue that spanned forever
Feast for my senses thus honed keen
Relishing the lingering touches of her radiating amber.
She's finally dipping, taking all of her light...
She'll sink behind the horizon, descending gracefully
I'd still remember all through my night
That amber...
Amber is the colour of her energy.
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 5:36 AM UTC
Hear the bass, grace notes race all over the place
Cymbals paced, hi-hats chase, weaving between the bass
The piano - chords struck with wide spanned hands
Poly-rhythmic, multi-layered sounds in strands
The timbre of reed vibrating against warm metal
Precision; a sixth, a ninth and an eleventh interval
A major, a minor scale; a frantic modal sweat
A small sound for mankind; but a truly giant step
Each note slices through the eclectic beat-drop
Singing and whispering this post-modern be-bop
Multi-phonics scream, like controlled feedback
The seductive saxophone – this weapon of attack
The boundary is stretched, new ground broken
The holy saxophone has never thus spoken
And I pay homage, all my deepest respects
Go to the man who made those giant steps
Aug 22, 2011
Aug 22, 2011 at 9:25 AM UTC
where solar lips are parted
and crescent ******* hardened
cobalt fire licks your name off its oldest breath
this ****** hollow bends its neck through thermal skies and sand
scarlet waves of heat off your (sweet ancestral) hand
come inside, the door is open. the answer's always yes
Medusa’s gaze would turn to sand
if she knew the stony glories spanned
within rock candy walls ablaze
flood plains carry hydrogen freight
from your abyss' collapsing weight
the broken ***** flowers rusting in the haze
long stem bows in the cut orchestral
steal blood from the times ancestral
the ink has spilled and left a stain
under folded layers of skin
that the mirror reflects from views within
your eyes are naked lights, innumerable and plain.
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 11:51 PM UTC
In glorious flight owning daylight
You magistrate freedom across
An ocean with your own box
Of twilight that you share
In a land of fish
A moonlit wish
With wings that
Kiss the
Sky
Throughout your expeditions to ground
Your voice is a dynamic sound
None can ignore your presence
What would Pandora say
When you sing that way?
Higher you fly
Distances
Many
Won't
Instruct us to use our heart compass
Open our eyes to perspective
Show us potential to live
When self-doubt is about
Like a grain of sand
May our cares be
Found without
A need
For
The liberty of our latitude
Is the length of our attitude
The way the wind blows effects
The direction we go
Our choices to be
Curiously
Ebb and flow
Waving
Lo
Behold a new dawn of bright feather
Consider the stormy weather
Notice how cloud and sun
Witness the Mother
Nature at play
Survey to
Coastal
Bay
May we find our way as you have shown
Limitless unbounded and flown
So shallow is the worry
No longer a fury
A calming has come
Soaring above
With truth in
Our hearts
Won
Riding the currents of emotions
Soaring aloft mental oceans
Wings spanned in physical worlds
Discover us great pearls
Of wisdom and poise
Joyful in noise
Good solid
Gifts of
Sage
Cleansing our spirits of past trifles
Being careful not to stifle
New growth with every gust gained
A quill, a crest, a quest
A mountain peaked with
Knowledge like the
Pier we are
Destined
To
A gate to become the best versions
Of our outstanding self-landing
Into the stars we have been
The fringe dust of pinion
Divine with the wind
Beginning free
And renewed
With no
End
© tHE tERRY tREE
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 9:15 PM UTC
Seeing we never found gay fairyland
(Though still we crouched by bluebells moon by moon)
And missed the tide of Lethe; yet are soon
For that new bridge that leaves old Styx half-spanned;
Nor ever unto Mecca caravanned;
Nor bugled Asgard, skilled in magic rune;
Nor yearned for far Nirvana, the sweet swoon,
And from high Paradise are cursed and banned;
-Let's die home, ferry across the Channel! Thus
Shall we live gods there. Death shall be no sev'rance.
Weary cathedrals light new shrines for us.
To us, rough knees of boys shall ache with rev'rence.
Are not girls' ******* a clear, strong Acropole?
-There our oun mothers' tears shall heal us whole
5.1k
There’s a battle raging through my head,
So much that it knocked me off my bed.
There’s a war raging through the thoughts;
Diverse and dismayed neither I can sort.
Haste is the time that spent wasting
Entertained by such pacifistic maiming.
Ideating the norm and realizing the storm
had just started as I shut the squirm.
Conscience speaks the threat at hand,
the head does not agree the time it spanned.
Where there are more things on heaven and earth;
there are more dreadforth than my brain sports.
The enemy lurks the darkness in me,
passing by the realm of my inability.
I had to open eyes wide to invite the Light
while at the same time shut from plain sight.
Recall the Words spoken to me,
realize there is much for me to see.
The villain emerge from the dark of the moon -
the cerebral crater dormant from the day’s form
“You – are not – real.
You are just a figment;
an imagination, a fantasy,
one that I let you haunt me.”
The One I know died for,
Lived and loved me through the core.
Lies no longer seem redemptive nor elegant nor sped;
Flee not the grace and flee the grave though instead.
Jolt to wake myself up,
admonition that all along I was held at a stop.
The battle becomes the sleep yet decided;
settled more for the Love had invited.
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 12:39 AM UTC
Before I begin, let me make one thing perfectly clear:
Everything I’ve ever given a **** about, I’ve been unabashedly critical of.
So believe me when I say that I appreciate ever word out of your mouth I’ve spanned the distance to hear.
You have all these years that you hang over my head, dangling them, subtly mocking from the end of a thread.
Yes, darling, you’re well aged and well-read but I’ll be ****** if I will let my experiences be invalidated by a few years and your fiery, well-meaning arrogance, let that be heard as it’s said.
It’s true that you know me better than most but don’t get it twisted. You sure as hell don’t know me better than me.
Pretend all you like that I’m buttered-up and convinced that your life lessons and late night calls have set me free, but you know as well as me that’s a lie fed through your precious mind’s teeth.
I boil and I freeze so I know I can stand the heat, but just remember one thing:
You’re intense and addictive but baby, the scorpion still stings.
And one twin will **** well bite while of your praises the other sings.
Jul 29, 2013
Jul 29, 2013 at 3:45 AM UTC
Shall we, too, rise forgetful from our sleep,
And shall my soul that lies within your hand
Remember nothing, as the blowing sand
Forgets the palm where long blue shadows creep
When winds along the darkened desert sweep?
Or would it still remember, tho’ it spanned
A thousand heavens, while the planets fanned
The vacant ether with their voices deep?
Soul of my soul, no word shall be forgot,
Nor yet alone, beloved, shall we see
The desolation of extinguished suns,
Nor fear the void wherethro’ our planet runs,
For still together shall we go and not
Fare forth alone to front eternity.
3.3k
I lost myself once upon a time
in a place that was only whispered to me in dreams.
Where the fog is thick and threads through the seams
of street lights and street cars with *** fights and brillo bars.
I tell you I lost myself on the tongue of insanity
who swallowed my soul to feed its humanity.
I lost myself
in a city that found me;
San Francisco, 2013
Let me extend two points like two bridges
that begin in separate places but lead to the same thing.
I’m talking the people in both hands with countless art in between.
The people, the people, the people.
What can’t be said about the near million faces
sleeping on warm pillows or cold stones,
wearing top hats or traffic cones
because not every night are people thriving.
But they’re still surviving, getting busy living or getting busy dying.
In their eyes are stories being told
once you wipe those windows into their souls, deep.
You see it all,
Just like every star in the fall when the sun goes to sleep.
I gave a homeless man a dollar who gave it to another homeless man who then gave it back to me
Like we were passing a love note that said, “You need this more than me.”
So which of us was the one without the home?
Home I soon found in the art of every step taken,
one foot in front of the next.
I can’t walk through that city discounting the side effects.
I was drunk,
but not from bottles or cans
I was drunk from the hands
that told tales with graffiti art to camera pans.
and countless other melodies
massaging bricks into the landmarks that spanned.
Culture sprinkling up and down the hills and between the cracks
Painting colors in the sky as the rainbows stacked,
Finding pots of gold by merely lifting my eye lids back.
There is so much to say about this city in the bay,
that is held in place by the people of race
and the vessels of art that encompass in its space
like stories and attitude,
survival and gratitude,
muse and expression
in delight or depression.
I tell you I lost myself in that city.
But I know now that being lost is sometimes the only way to be truly found.
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 6:55 AM UTC
October winds, they came at last
Across the hills and ponds, they passed
And strewed bright autumn leaves around
So wonderful, their stirring sound
Relentlessly, they lured my mind
Down ancient paths that ever wind
So forthwith I sped through my door
Toward Massapoag's long sandy shore
And to the windy beach, I came
As waters glowed with twilight's flame
I felt your love on me enfold
As I gazed out on waters gold
So movingly, our hearts were one
Neath crimson rays of setting sun
Though far across the land, you dwelt
Eternal was the love I felt
That spanned the mountains and the seas
And rode the wild Autumn breeze
Now Autumn days to Winter, turn
This vision will, in my heart, burn.
Jul 9, 2015
Jul 9, 2015 at 6:02 PM UTC
Across the ice a baritone
Projects his notes of steel,
A tenor’s harmonizing
Adds that melancholy feel
And the glory of the voices
Flows out through alders bare
And the listeners weep for Russia’s soul
And the tragedy found there.
The tragic melancholy
Found in every Russian heart
Liberated by the sadness
A fine harmony can impart.
Of the monolithic yesterdays,
Those forgotten fields of dead
And that fire within the *****
Which numbs the agony of the head.
Dark stains along the timber wall
Wood fire’s stones make steam
It fills the room with stifling heat
Which sweats the bodies clean.
Red wheals raised on shoulders
Birch branches whip the back
Whilst companion tones of maleness
Speak in vectors women lack.
Red larches in the foothills
Gold lantern light on snow,
The vastness of ancient steppes
Of Central Asia grow.
A viola’s velvet passion
Sighs beneath a cottage door
And the sadness in sensation
Brings grown men to weep once more.
The vastness of the terrain
The hardness of the land,
The bitter cold of northern wind,
Each freezing winter spanned
By Siberia’s lashing gales,
White snow is metres deep
And turquois ice as hard as steel
Beneath which... rivers creep.
Dostoyevsky,Kruschev,
Rasputin and the Tsars,
Great Lenin, Marx and Trotsky
And the swords of Horse Hussars.
Gorbachev the great redeemer,
Poor Yeltsin’s pale white skin
And the ****** found in Stalin's smile
Span the politics of sin.
This great Russian melancholy
Lies deep within the soul
It’s a legacy of yesterday
Of her history's brutal goal.
It’s a product of the suffering
Inherent in the past
Endured by legions of the people
Then dispensed with…
With a laugh!
Marshalg
@theBach
Mangere Bridge
13 April 2009
Jan 27, 2010
Jan 27, 2010 at 10:46 PM UTC
We were sitting in a restaurant
Table set for two
One of those single couple booths
Perfect for me and you
We spoke of money and
I refused to let you pay for me
Maybe I have too much pride
But I’m not who your ex used to be
The overhead lights reflected perfectly and
I was sure that you were not a mistake
Your ocean eyes vibrated my soul
And then I spilled my milkshake
Blood rushed to my face
And I looked away in shame
But then I heard you laughing
And something in my heart changed
Somehow you weren’t embarrassed
Or uncomfortable with my lack of grace
But instead that heart-shattering smile
Was plastered across your gorgeous face
And then you surprised me yet again
As you opened up your soul out of the blue
And though you spoke nonchalantly
I knew those thoughts were haunting you
I painted versions of your stories
Across the walls of my mind as you spoke
Memorizing the imagery and your feelings
About your insufficient social support
And while I know I can’t be everything for you
I can try to be better than the last
So you have somewhere safe to run
When you need to escape your broken past
Because although the table spanned miles between us
And we were connected only by our fingertips
I could feel our souls grazing one another
As they tangled together in electric riffs
At that very moment
Staring into your eyes, gold and blue
I felt the first real chance
That I might truly love you
Aug 21, 2017
Aug 21, 2017 at 3:42 PM UTC
A carpenter was given task;
nobody thought it could be done.
A bridge that spanned eternity
was priority number one.
This carpenter, he had no tools;
materials he had so few.
Yet without doubt he set to work-
he knew just what he had to do.
With two great beams of solid wood,
fastened in a criss-cross fashion,
and three old nails, wrought of iron,
completed his fateful mission.
He had worked with a crew of twelve,
but in the end, he toiled as one.
Regardless, he had kept the course,
and labored til the bridge was done..
He never had union backing,
and was never properly paid.
Where other workers would have quit,
this carpenter would not be swayed.
Now, in the end, his blood and sweat,
the bridge's strong foundation made.
The final sacrifice of life
made sure its timeless glory stayed.
There is no toll to cross this bridge;
the price was paid in blessed blood.
Who'd have thought a bridge to heaven
could be made from a cross of wood?
Jun 20, 2017
Jun 20, 2017 at 11:52 AM UTC
Later,
there are tears,
a sorrow slender
as a bellflower at first,
and opening its slow & delicate way
to grief, fluent as the soul
falling toward you, wet
and gasping, an agony of willows,
late in August & hemlock,
tear strung, haunted,
in the deep blue scythe of hours
you carve out of our secret,
a totem fossil of wild horses,
abandoned & impaled upon a carousel,
that bear a garland of snapdragons
for reign and bridle,
as they open their tiny pink throats to the night,
the calyx trill of tree frogs,
with their penchant for silk
& pink ribbons, pigtails
& sequin dreams,
I am desolate now,
my body a bramble
tangled in its curfew of snow,
upon the window pane,
the incessant thump, thump
of these **** ivory moths,
on each wing, a word I speak in dream,
returns to me, cleft
of blue light, scissor in darkness,
fierce to extinguish the stars
with their vehement lash of wing
to glass, to glass,
your pain is my familiar,
my envy,
my assurance,
and I am calmed
solely with the lace of spanned hands
at the throats small and fluttered vessel,
come, to besiege
the innocence of Summers stray tears....
Jan 8, 2013
Jan 8, 2013 at 3:13 PM UTC
In the calm still moonlit night
she silently wove a silken tapestry -
spinnerets spewing slender strands
light as air but strong as Kevlar.
A silvery armature spanned the trail
clinging to trunks and branches.
Rappelling down from its pinnacle,
she fixed radii to her deadly wheel.
Spiraling in from the outer ring
she knitted her way to the center
to await the tell-tale shudder
of a fly or moth flown into her snare.
She took no note of the hiker
paused alone on the trail -
transfixed by the dew laden spiral
shimmering in the rose-glow sun.
It mattered not to the spider
that a man would find her work pleasing
and it mattered not to the man
that the web was not woven for art.
Aug 2, 2013
Aug 2, 2013 at 12:47 AM UTC
I Believe
.
I believe a butterfly
Can stop a baseball game
I know, because I've seen it
And it really was a shame,
I believe a simple housefly
Can stop a moving train,
I believe single piece of dust
Can also make it rain
I believe in every mountain
There's a pebble on it's own
I believe that every grain of sand
Is a pearl that hasn't grown
I believe that Father Christmas
Is quite real and in your heart
I believe that you can finish
Every task, if you just start
I believe, like Charlie Bucket
There's a golden ticket to be found
I believe that a tree that's in the forest
When it falls, will make a sound
I believe in every mountain
There's a pebble on it's own
I believe that every grain of sand
Is a pearl that hasn't grown
I believe that love's forever
But the one thing about this
I believe forever's infinite
And it may just last a kiss
I believe to stay together
That one's trust, it must be earned
I believe you jump into the fire
Before you know if you'll get burned
I believe in every mountain
There's a pebble on it's own
I believe that every grain of sand
Is a pearl that hasn't grown
I believe that a strong handshake
Will seal a contract, so I've heard
I believe one's reputation
Should be based on a mans' word
I believe that there is wonder
In everything that we may find
I believe that life is better
When you can have an open mind
I believe we're just a heartbeat
In the timeline life has spanned
I believe that every person
Is an ungrown grain of sand
I believe in every mountain
There's a pebble on it's own
I believe that every grain of sand
Is a pearl that hasn't grown
I believe....
Jul 26, 2015
Jul 26, 2015 at 10:48 AM UTC
I am from a dreamland.
My great land was diverse yet so grand as
the food and words were never bland.
The hands were rich with bands and rands,
built from working the same ground upon which we stand.
I am from a home that once spanned
prosperity itself; such a lovely
thing was a gift to our health. The sands,
skies, and seas could even hold the Heavens.
The trees used to dance in the breeze with ease.
I am from a dwelling of past envy,
but not of a hating feeling,
in the purest form, this was just only beauty.
But I am from broken societies.
Our hearts were bled dry
as we were taken overseas.
We prayed, begged, cried why
ever so loudly, but it was in vain.
I am from a place where our veins
still course with a saddened passion,
as a lack of love is our new fashion.
With sorrow, I am still from a life of death,
as their malice has never left.
Yet they still set us so carelessly upon the trees;
despite our screams and pleas, we
become the strangest fruits you have ever seen.
We have no identity and we have no names.
yet they still set us so harshly upon the pyre;
the painful extermination of desire
is a freedomless and killing fire.
Even our look for love is seen as theft,
and sadly, I am from where they even have my last breath.
Mar 30, 2021
Mar 30, 2021 at 12:26 PM UTC
At night I dream of a cityscape,
vast and bright across a lake.
A breeze blows soft across my face
as heart and mind did celebrate,
the city which spanned a thought horizon,
and bridged the night for old Orion.
This moonlit causeway- that splits the sky,
Traversed by stars that walk the night.
For Luna did smile upon grey streets,
and lit grey towers of pure concrete.
Illuminated the dark, and pale, and cold,
She bathed the raw night in a blanket of gold.
This city of dreams that I wander alone,
becomes a home and a place of my own,
however, even this city can not hide nor run,
from the eventual coming of the rising sun.
Sleep, my mistress, hold onto me tight,
and stay with me, till the crack of first light.
We'll meet once more under night's dark drape,
as I dream once more of a cityscape.
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 7:15 AM UTC
Wake: the silver dusk returning
Up the beach of darkness brims,
And the ship of sunrise burning
Strands upon the eastern rims.
Wake: the vaulted shadow shatters,
Trampled to the floor it spanned,
And the tent of night in tatters
Straws the sky-pavilioned land.
Up, lad, up, 'tis late for lying:
Hear the drums of morning play;
Hark, the empty highways crying
"Who'll beyond the hills away?"
Towns and countries woo together,
Forelands beacon, belfries call;
Never lad that trod on leather
Lived to feast his heart with all.
Up, lad: thews that lie and cumber
Sunlit pallets never thrive;
Morns abed and daylight slumber
Were not meant for man alive.
Clay lies still, but blood's a rover;
Breath's a ware that will not keep.
Up, lad: when the journey's over
There'll be time enough to sleep.
2k
My hand, a little raised, might press a star--
Where I may look, the frosted peaks are spun,
So shaped before Olympus was begun,
Spanned each to each, now, by a silver bar.
Thus to face Beauty have I traveled far,
But now, as if around my heart were run
Hard, lacing fingers, so I stand undone.
Of all my tears, the bitterest these are.
Who humbly followed Beauty all her ways,
Begging the brambles that her robe had passed,
Crying her name in corridors of stone,
That day shall know his weariedest of days--
When Beauty, still and suppliant at last,
Does not suffice him, once they are alone.
1.9k
The Circus gongs excite the Throngs in nighttime Never Land –
They swarm to see the destiny of Freaks at their command,
While Acrobats step pitapat above the shifting sands
And Lady Fat sits down to chat and oozes charm unplanned.
The Dwarfs in suits, so small and cute when marching with the Band,
Ask crimson Clowns with frozen frowns, to hold a mutant hand,
While Tamers’ whips with withered tips, throughout the winter land,
Lure Cats entranced through hoops enhanced with flames of fires fanned.
White Elephants in big-top tents boast black-tusk contraband
To regiments of Sycophants who overflow the stands,
But No One sees anomalies, and No One understands.
At night’s demise, the dither dies, the lonesome Crowd disbands,
Down dead-end streets the Horde retreats, their tattered rags in strands,
And Janes and Joes reweave their woes, for thoughts of change are banned.
To play a part in Three-Ring Art, I thought I’d try my hand –
I mastered skills, I felt the thrills, I breathed and seethed firsthand –
But destiny denied to me to taste a lifetime spanned
With tightrope walks and trapeze chalks ... excepting second-hand...
For alcohol provoked a fall, as if a reprimand,
And now, a heap, I sometimes keep the ticket office manned...
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 10:57 AM UTC
is carpeted with snowdrops.
did you see them at 60mph,
overtaking. did you slow later
to see the next drift. did you reach
your destination safely.
did you stop for coffee there,
have a chat, look at the meat
and biscuits.
did you see the rainbow that
spanned the empty house.
did you ever wonder,
what happened next?
it is a small life, treat
it gently.
sbm,
Feb 6, 2014
Feb 6, 2014 at 2:01 AM UTC
Nothing but water. Millions of chemical bonds that sever bonds of the heart, infinitesimally small, but they amount to canyons of separation. On the edges of the canyon stand pieces of a whole, tied through chance equally as small that grew into something beautiful.
The ties that spanned this fluid canyon are stressed by the howling winds of uncertainty, and crashing waves of dire futures lap at this fragile twine, but it holds fast and firm. He won’t let the bond break. He stands ashore of his continent framed by ignorance of what lies beyond its coral shoals, knowing nothing of the ocean that spans his affection, or of the island where his affection finds a home.
And through the storms that threaten to rip the rope that binds him to his adoration from his blistered fingers, he can see the light that keeps his grip fast and strong. He has read Gatsby and knows the perils of ominous lights that cast shadows on placid waters, but Fitzgerald knows nothing of the tangibility of this boy’s shining beacon.
She stands, not as a faint reminder of what once was, but of a blaring beacon of all that could be, and her light pierces through the cynical fog that tries to ***** out her light.
You are my beacon. You are my light through the fog of my daily struggles, the beacon that guides me through these rocky waters, holding my hand so as not to run aground on the sandbars of doubt below me. I stay strong, and I stay hopeful, for one day the bonds of this watery divide will break, and this distance will be lessened, and as easy as folding a map to span miles, I will be there with you.
So as I stand on this shore, ignorant of the island across this canyon, I hold fast in my grip, and I would sooner be pulled into the sea than let this go, hold onto the ties that bind your heart to mine.
Sep 6, 2013
Sep 6, 2013 at 12:35 AM UTC