"twilit" poems
I think I'm homesick for you;
For your body and it's warmth,
For the arms that hold me tight at night
And caress me into the twilit slumber.
The comfort.
You possess this hold on me,
You hold a part of me; inside you.
And I'm homesick for your embrace;
The way you taste.
I miss the breathing of us in sync,
And the sweet way your eyelids flicker as you fall asleep;
The light as feather touch of your fingertips as they lose the weight of wakefulness.
The quiet peace I see in your smooth features as you drift away in dreams I'll never know.
I'm homesick for you.
Oct 9, 2013
Oct 9, 2013 at 12:26 AM UTC
Turn your dapple gray diffuse light daydream
Towards the flashlight painted cloudscape I have made for you
And before the drafted owl coos I have collected in bottles and hung from this tree
For you
I have walked through fine winged butterflies and soft twilit moss
Over sun scorched sand and in the relief of white noise water
Which
Like the circle of your arms
Tucks my dark away in the bottom of some drawer
That we may find and laugh over through our old eyes wrinkled with years of delight
Our home is walking through a stream
Steps slowed in the thickness of water
Nov 8, 2012
Nov 8, 2012 at 11:24 PM UTC
sitting hungry in the halls
reading holocaust novels with a morbid fascination
two identical scarves knitted by two identical souls;
both hungry for self-love, god-love and the night
one is rewarded by he who weaves the long, black tapestry of his own destruction; the other destined to sit lonely & forgotten
standing idly, lost in the dance of delusion
& moving wildly intoxicated
seeking love, seeking chase
giving flight to the demons of the age
the technological drug-fix of instantaneous communication
the lobotomy of both mental hemispheres
the horse collar choking struggle to escape clinging home and mother's spinning round & round
turning wheels and daisies
kicked up in the dust of the twilit road
retched from the stomachs of a thousand children lulled to sleep
by the sickly glow of orange floodlight
Mar 10, 2011
Mar 10, 2011 at 12:37 PM UTC
When, like a running grave, time tracks you down,
Your calm and cuddled is a scythe of hairs,
Love in her gear is slowly through the house,
Up naked stairs, a turtle in a hearse,
Hauled to the dome,
Comes, like a scissors stalking, tailor age,
Deliver me who timid in my tribe,
Of love am barer than Cadaver's trap
Robbed of the foxy tongue, his footed tape
Of the bone inch
Deliver me, my masters, head and heart,
Heart of Cadaver's candle waxes thin,
When blood, spade-handed, and the logic time
Drive children up like bruises to the thumb,
From maid and head,
For, sunday faced, with dusters in my glove,
Chaste and the chaser, man with the cockshut eye,
I, that time's jacket or the coat of ice
May fail to fasten with a ****** o
In the straight grave,
Stride through Cadaver's country in my force,
My pickbrain masters morsing on the stone
Despair of blood faith in the maiden's slime,
Halt among eunuchs, and the nitric stain
On fork and face.
Time is a foolish fancy, time and fool.
No, no, you lover skull, descending hammer
Descends, my masters, on the entered honour.
You hero skull, Cadaver in the hangar
Tells the stick, 'fail.'
Joy is no knocking nation, sir and madam,
The cancer's fashion, or the summer feather
Lit on the cuddled tree, the cross of fever,
Not city tar and subway bored to foster
Man through macadam.
I dump the waxlights in your tower dome.
Joy is the knock of dust, Cadaver's shoot
Of bud of Adam through his boxy shift,
Love's twilit nation and the skull of state,
Sir, is your doom.
Everything ends, the tower ending and,
(Have with the house of wind), the leaning scene,
Ball of the foot depending from the sun,
(Give, summer, over), the cemented skin,
The actions' end.
All, men my madmen, the unwholesome wind
With whistler's cough contages, time on track
Shapes in a cinder death; love for his trick,
Happy Cadaver's hunger as you take
The kissproof world.
3.4k
Fierce is god impenitrable
glad glad glad there is a
Fire up the street called Heaven
There is
A woman wearing only one shoe who is taking
an exhaustive drag of her smoke in the
early morning where birds are
still heard in
!!!!!!cities
A hymnal a
heralded nest of savory berries A quartzstone is trapped in time a myth is made more ridiculous when proven real
Continents wither where the flies glue their
regal canvases on downtrodden earth (missing Pangea)
Or smiles everlasting smiles meanwhile
(Blonde tongues wearing fashioned wigs)
in constant state of beguilement
The Neanderthalic stones will be unforgiving to the REVEREND who has collapsed through his song the song of lead pipedream fantasies of sexless dogma YEAH monkhood yeah Ghat burning holes in twilit schools of thought or no thought at all
I can
hear the collective Faerie outcry that silence has presented itself HEAvier to their wicked careless bodies ok I am innocent of love I love your innocent love I am careless(of their wicked careless bodies)
ResemblingA swans actual duty to die
a swan lies a swan lay
like an even more beautiful swan
on even more beautiful swanny grass
To die by swanlightSUN and MOON white like the swan where we soon listen closely to the swansong a celestialLOVELY
rhythm of gilded forest (((((orchestrals
The swan leaves us in happiness of bright groggy light
O (of which in chaos of day I am again innocent)
The Reverend's desperate gaspings into a micro -phone for a macro - cosmic prayer idol o idol where is your capability for worship idol o where is my chinstrap o idol where is ****** youth or the romanticized eternal SUMMERS I sing
O bible O cloudland O where is your telephone operator is they deceased by their own fragrant holines? The church
Watches the Reverend neverend his television routine of clamoring death odes
Watches his senility come like an implorical shadow outline watches a demon lick its dreamless lips beyond the periphery of godless dreams
Watches
Reverend lose his sight in anInstant
HeWAILSheWAILSandWAILS can you hear it Thomas De Quincey can you hear the sandbeaches ringing more clearly than the ChurchBells or the ****** Pagoda for torture /
his soul is to sleep in the (mossy)mountain the fire of the (forever)street called HEAVEN the mountain column supporting the sky(swan)gate of heavenHeaven!welcome
to:
Mar 17, 2017
Mar 17, 2017 at 9:41 PM UTC
take me to that shadowed place
past all the songs and tales untold
for none can ever see a trace
in domains dark where souls are sold
chill thoughts in solemn darkness tread
outside the sun’s beguiling spell
through barrens deep in mortal dread
of endless night and frozen hell
my voice lies mute in lifeless cold
where twilit lands may hide my face
beyond my youth and dreams of gold
conceal my wretched fall from grace
with stone and star I now will dwell
and grieve alone for words unsaid
leave bone and dust my fate to tell
weep silent tears that must be shed
Feb 6, 2023
Feb 6, 2023 at 10:35 PM UTC
An old tale tells of a lady who wanders Earth.
The Lady who Knows Everything.
A beautiful lady who has found every answer,
All meaning,
All purpose,
And all that was ever sought.
And here I am,
a feather
Lost adrift the sky, victim of the currents of the wind.
Day after day, I search.
I search with little hope, knowing legends don't exist.
But when all else has failed me,
When all others have turned away,
The legend is all that remains – the last dim star glimmering in the twilit sky.
Until one day, the wind ceases to blow.
I fall.
And I fall and fall, and fall even more.
Gentle as a feather.
A dry quill, expressionless.
But a hand catches me, between the thumb and forefinger.
The hand of a beautiful lady.
I look at her eyes and find no end to her gaze.
The Lady who Knows Everything knows what I am thinking.
Before I can speak, she responds in a hollow voice.
"I have found every answer, all of which amount to nothing.
There is no meaning.
There is no purpose.
And we seek only the impossible.
I am not your legend.
Your legend does not exist."
And with a breath, she blows me back afloat, and I pick up a gust of wind.
Mar 6, 2019
Mar 6, 2019 at 4:29 PM UTC
[These statues were exhibited at the Metropolitan Museum after the sculptor's death. The figures alluded to are the famous statue of Abraham Lincoln, and the monument in memory of Mrs. Henry Adams, the original of which is in the Rock Creek Cemetery at Washington. --Max Eastman]
POET, thy dreams are grateful to the air
And the light loves them. Tho' they murmur not,
Their carven stillness is a music rare,
And like the song of one whose tongue hath caught
The clear ethereal essence of his thought.
I hear the talkers come, the changing throngs
That with the fashions of a day surround
Thy visions, and I hear them quell their tongues,
And hush their querulous shoes upon the ground;
Thy dreams are with the crown of silence crowned--
Though they feel not the glowing diadem,
Who sleep for aye in their cool shapes of stone.
Nor ever will the sunlight waken them,
Nor ever will they turn their eyes and moan,
To think that their brief Poet's life is gone.
The tender and the lofty soul is gone,
Who eyed them forth from darkness, and confessed
His spirit's motion in unmoving stone.
His praise upon no mortal tongue doth rest;
By these unwhispering lips it is expressed.
Soon will the ample arms of night withdraw
Her shuffling children from the twilit hall--
From that heroic presence, in dim awe
Of whom the dark withholds a while her pall,
And leaves him luminous above them all.
Then are ye lost in darkness and alone,
Ye ghostly spirits! And the moment rare
Doth quicken that too sad and nameless stone,
To move her robe, and spill her sable hair,
And be in silence mingled with the air;
For she is one with the dim glimmering hour,
And the white spirits beautiful and still,
And the veiled memory of the vanished power
That moulded them, the high and infinite will
That earth begets and earth does not fulfil.
2.2k
I watched through tears
--That streamed like the one out back
And the scattered clouds
--The ones that floated overhead for years
A twilit ridge inurn the sun.
It was one of those rising hills of my youth,
One my infant eyes always thought
Gave birth to the moon
Time and again.
With its innocent face smiling
That worldly crispness is lost
And the foggy past is far more defined.
Who are these forms I've lost?
They are but phantoms,
(I tell myself)
And now intangible, those memories
Acidic and dusted with sugar
Held suspended and taunting, like
Feet at the mouth of an open casket.
The cold, bitter knives of impersonal
Reunion
And rejuvenated promises
--Only now remembered, only now forgotten—
Illuminated once again
In the dark.
Passing onward and through
--Like our time together—
Exactly like wind through these **** dead branches
And this grave: winter-bare.
I remember the vivacity
How enlivened the sky, that I
Each day for granted took
And how so much smaller, in my youth,
The mountains afar looked.
But there is no home,
It died when I left.
The poison I fought
Has become the blood which pumps the heart,
Now corrupt,
Antithetical.
Nothing is more colorless, not sky,
Nor hill, nor moon,
Or ever more formless
Than what I once called home.
Now that only exists is deteriorated
A rotting house:
Four walls and a roof to keep
Hatred dry,
Windows and lamps, so
Hatred has eyes,
And all the people that
Hatred hates most.
How cozy it must be to sleep in
One’s own bed, no?
To have some stable place,
And an ounce of certainty?
As for me, that will never be
Again.
Though the house is open,
Lock, room, and all
The home is closed forever
Without a proper epitaph.
Vain death.
Vain,
Vain,
Death.
Now all I can only turn back
And flirt with shadows
Just outside my arms
Walk with images
Shifting, growling, and oh, so dark
--mere abstraction
--future so stark--
With no companion but defeat.
I can’t hug a memory,
Nor cry on recollection’s shoulder,
Nor can my mother or sibling console me,
And I cry alone.
Maturation is merely widening a distance, so
I should let them go,
Bid them adieu
Because, I can't be homesick
For a home
I can't go back to.
Nov 16, 2013
Nov 16, 2013 at 11:17 PM UTC
*Lay down on your pillow
and turn the lights down low,
Close your eyes and enter dreams.
Let me take you to the garden
where passion flowers grow.*
**Let me kiss your mind
With splendor and passion
Ravage your thoughts with
Past, Present and Future actions.**
*Love will not break your heart
but, dismiss your fears.
Get over your hill and see
what you find there, with grace in your heart
and flowers in your hair...
Let me take you there.*
**In this garden you're the main attraction
I have the hose that waters your growth.
The ***** that digs to your soul.
As you envelope you roots in this garden of my affection.
We blossom from our enclosure
Spreading bliss
Like pesticides in this garden,
You're my obsession.**
*If we wait until we're
ready, we'll be waiting for
the rest of our lives.
I want to feel as free as the flowers.*
**Immerse yourself in fields of blooms
Cherry blossoms
Tulips and Patunias, too.
Passion flowers are our main attraction
Trapped in their periodic frame.
We savor the peace they bring.
Hours of bliss
Turn to notions of a moment's gist.
For passion flowers bloom in the twilit hours.**
*Touch the tender petals
of the flower as she grows
a tentative endeavour,
as your feelings overflow.*
**Touch your soul
In places it's never felt
Mending wounds
That never seem to shut
The Gardner to your soul
Here to nurse you back to perfect health.**
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 4:38 PM UTC
Hang me from the rings of Saturn.
Beat the stars into my eyes.
Make my screams a supernova,
Spreading over twilit skies.
Grate my skin on lunar craters.
Drown me in the milky way.
Do whatever you deem fit,
Just promise me you'll stay.
Oct 29, 2018
Oct 29, 2018 at 9:51 PM UTC
She was night when I met her.
The hills beyond bathed in moonlight,
though she seemed to hide from faint starshine
sheltered and hidden: wrapped in a mystery cloak
woven from fibrous shadows and dyed
in the deepest part of the ocean with midnight hues
untouched by the constellations.
She was summer aurora soon after her night.
I took her hand into the dewy field,
we reveled in the damp and softened earth
and the stars blossomed: points of bursting light
fixed among the twilit blue-greens
like the blinking bulbs of fireflies
who floated between our heads.
She was daybreak after her sky turned aquamarine.
The stars hid themselves under our feet,
the sun appeared on our horizon
and painted our faces in pinks and oranges: her hand
so soft and gentle, slipped from mine
trailing warmth against the flesh of my palm
where her fingertips kissed my skin.
She was high morning when the sky’s pinks faded.
I cradled her face between my two hands,
pressed kindnesses into her cheeks
and turned our noses to the sunshine: her celestial smile
played notes on her lips,
singing lilting aria in a rising melody
as the light radiated warmth across her face.
But now she is a rainbow in refracted afternoon.
She gleams in every color now her cloak is shed,
red in heart, orange in grin, yellow in mind,
green in energy, blue in veins, violet in spirit: but most of all
she is soft pink, pale white, and baby blue,
a harmony of hues
which she had kept hidden under her cloak of night.
Oct 28, 2017
Oct 28, 2017 at 12:51 PM UTC
No longer doth she walk the twilit earth,
Her knock forever absent from our door.
Death's icy grasp banished our childlike mirth
Silencing her sweet voice forevermore.
Laid aside dreams from spirit grown weary;
Perfume of burning candles flood her room.
How dragged those final days on steps dreary
Awaiting with tears the oncoming gloom.
Sweet Joy! I long to see thee once again
Tripping so merrily through woodland green,
Or nymph-like wandering in mist and rain.
Amber hair and faery form no more seen,
Flown as a free bird from imprisoned cage,
Vanished from life, leaving one cherished page.
~Hilda~
Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 12:08 PM UTC
She wanders by the twilit lake,
for thoughts of him kept her awake,
so now she feels her heart may break,
and walks on, cold and bitter.
He treated her with scant respect,
while his behaviour went unchecked
and after years of self-neglect
she doesn't know what hit her.
The whispered words behind the bend
allow her heart no chance to mend,
thus forcing her instead to tend
to purely stressful matters,
and all the while the breezes blow,
the things she didn't want to know
occur to her in steady flow
and leave her heart in tatters.
For what good comes neglecting chat
which lays her bare, or lies her flat,
if without help, her brain does that,
and worse, it complicates it?
But she never does speak thus,
it's to be felt, not to discuss,
and, wanting not to cause a fuss,
she never even states it.
Oct 13, 2018
Oct 13, 2018 at 11:17 PM UTC
somber song haiku
/|\
*early autumn chill
somber toning frogling bass
stars beam silent truth*
\|/
mid summer hints its end
here too
the night extends in tones
lamenting twilit choke of day--
changeling-hours' ease: a memory
offsetting later dawns
yet deeper chills portend
an autumn's coming tide
of ending-songs
i too am passing
as a haiku's universal scope
of timeless time,
galactic spin within the frogling's utterance,
makes morbid rhythms eyed;
i fear i'm croaking right along this somber bass,
and wonder is it time? so soon?
envisioning the ancient host of haiku masters
brittle, fade
in unison of tears
or tranquil noddings at the season's cutting
partial circles round the sun
i read
i am the aging frog
by virtue of a poem,
and then it lets me leap!
.
Aug 10, 2013
Aug 10, 2013 at 2:42 PM UTC
The universe,
it does not end
so much as it curves
downward, angles
brushing into cloudy
strokes across the sky
There is no
horizon here --
everything extends
so beautifully, a
twilit landscape
falling away
into the
blackness
beyond
The end of
my life, it will be
an encore
I will fall below
the curtain only to
appear on stage
once more,
I've never been
the kind of girl
who could let go
of something so holy,
who could give up
when she knows
it's time
These stretch marks
across my body,
they might fade
but the ties
I held onto --
they'll continue
snaking across
my frame,
and I know,
you would take
my hand, and between
the sunset and the dawn,
you would hold me
to your chest,
an agony of echoes
passing between
our lips
This end, I don't think
it will hurt --
I think it will fade
as easily as falling,
an endless high dive
where there is no pool
to catch me far below
I will never sink
so much as I will float
in the in between,
waiting for your hand
to catch mine as we fall
My dear, we will burn
like shooting stars
across that sky,
and I know, that
unforgiving moon,
he'll give us the chance
to join him someday
And when we
disappear
into the black,
I want to know
the last word
on your lips
will be my name.
Mar 14, 2012
Mar 14, 2012 at 12:09 AM UTC
Existing in a stratosphere full of a familiar twilit breeze,
I reign down on my enemies.
I'll plant them in my sanatorium
and tuck them nicely into bed,
leaving them to gaze mindlessly at a cerebral ceiling.
Because they all say I'm crazy--
but they don't know of all the things
that have died from my hospice embrace.
So they'll gaze mindlessly at a cerebral ceiling
missing everybody they know,
and seeing beauty in the
placid birds floating past their mental window.
I'll still give them the birds.
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 7:01 AM UTC
1 If ever I wrote a thousand gospels of Hope, but meanwhile did not love,
I am the empty words of politicians and sycophants.
2 And if ever I knew the world in fine and time and with all shared my mind,
but so burn in hate that I bar any Faith, my words are cinders.
3 And if ever I laid down my life for a friend or died so that you all might live.
If I do not have the Love that did it, the deed meant nothing.
4 Because Love feels far, feels deep, and feels forever.
Love is kind; and it does not whine, chime, or shine.
5 Love is grace. Love sets free.
Love is gentle. Love let’s be.
6 Love is a repletion, the completion of joy despite of,
because of the shared, dark Truths of our twilit souls.
7 "For Love beareth all things, hopeth all things,
endureth all things.
8 Love never faileth:" But when these prophetic words pass,
Love shall live where life and strife wither.
9 For fiery stars we will never see whose light has not come,
And any act, however fierce, is only the orbits of atoms.
10 But when Love came in our lives, all the littlest in
the drowning dark embraced as (w)hol(l)y One.
11 When I was small, I thought and felt and feared small;
but my heart has grown and now can no longer.
12 Anything meant nothing until Love came and
bade us recognize the I in You and You in Me.
13 And where all else fails, there is three: Hope, Faith, and Love.
And greatest of these - Binding Hinge of Life - is Love.
Oct 13, 2012
Oct 13, 2012 at 8:44 PM UTC
—Chet Baker, '88
I put The Lost Tapes
on while I shaved my face, inching
around two chin nicks turning
the lather into the remnants of a strawberry
shortcake paper plate soak-through.
I tapped my Chucks on the pink,
checkered floor to the cymbals.
Heel toe, heel toe strut,
stopping every few measures
to re-tuck my herringbone-detail
tie beneath my collar. I heard
his trumpet wail, and mimicked
it on the rusted shower rod like a cheap
snare, deep drumstick strikes patched
with meat tape. I carefully ran the flexed
blade beneath my cheekbone
like a piano-park saunter, trying not to step
on the drummer’s heels ‘cause he hits
it just right. And the brass birds
are just right. The bench creaks, the cinder
snaps, the twilit fountain dance, the pop-
skip needle, the slick floor, the jazz faucet,
and the shave
are all just right.
Mar 29, 2015
Mar 29, 2015 at 11:38 PM UTC
Sun drunk on early Spring,
Pulsing veins of years of light;
Warm skin, damp grass Earth;
Softest blue and still wind;
If you listen close, listen far,
Packs of birds make flights
In figure eights around the trees.
Splash of a landing, calm and smooth,
Upon the water, beyond the sand.
Endless day of sky and sky and sky.
Time upon time upon time
Cannot find us here, in our
Secret place, here with all the world,
With us and for us, only.
The stop-motion set unwinds,
Fades out to unnumbered days
When hours had no meaning;
Timeless time and ageless age.
The gnat in our minds reminds:
You will have to return;
The buzz of reason.
Not yet, not here,
In this infinite pause of life.
The sight, the touch, the sound.
The premonition of rain
Draws us back to the indoor glow
Of glazed fog window panes.
Two depressions on the ground
Beneath the twilit atmosphere
Signifying us.
Mar 13, 2014
Mar 13, 2014 at 11:42 AM UTC
I need you yesterday
ripped up from rope burns in my
darkling bedroom and
finally able to get out of the sack with some
semblance around four
leafing already? I asked the twilit
mid-june trees and the
cicadas in their infinite whirring
forgot to answer
all I know is that they spit
electricity like the demons spit
hair lice they
laugh you in the face
a yearsfromnow dream—
the kids playing
fifty-two pick-up
in the garage;
don’t ask me what else
you have up your sleeve, baby
that’s enough
card tricks for one night.
Jun 28, 2012
Jun 28, 2012 at 4:43 AM UTC
Walking in the woods, I fell
Down into a knothole that lead
To another realm, unlike our own
‘Twas a wondrous realm like a twilit dream
Where the dazzling sky at night engulfed all
And satyrs who were young like me
Beckoned me to their sordid ******
Fountains of wine poured into streams,
And wood nymphs danced and bathed in falls
Deliciously drunken and sweet, calling me
To pick their flowers.
We caroused and we aroused
As we fired our slingshots into the sky
And watched the night shimmer with the
Comets we launched up and away.
I fired mine, foolishly unaware
That my target was the moon so full
I shattered my joy to pieces
And brought this realm to darkness
The satyrs howled in fear
The wood nymphs withered away
The fountains of wine turned into blood
And I was left drowningl
Until a glorious golden hand
Went from the moon’s place to
Shield me, carry me back to reality.
I awoke in a sweat and a shiver
'Twas always night in the Satyr’s Garden
Be it drenched with stars and ecstasy,
'Twas night, and night to remain.
Mar 4, 2010
Mar 4, 2010 at 10:30 AM UTC
The street where I've lived for three years until tomorrow is peaceful
and twilit clouds, more grey every day than the one before, are spinning
like ghosts interwoven around the clock tower on the corner
and meanwhile, a couple share their last kiss at a station
and meanwhile, a guitarist sings underground
and meanwhile, someone asks for help but it begins to rain.
Rain sounds. Traffic. No one listens.
Meanwhile,
women's eyes disappear,
in towards the back of their minds,
into the sky.
Meanwhile,
men count the days,
tug at their ties, a knot, a noose,
and they cry.
Quietly, someone somewhere is cutting open an arm with nail scissors.
Someone is screaming into a pillow.
Someone needs to be heard. No one listens.
We are a quiet cough in the polite throat of Fate.
We are burning up the blueprints drawn up of our stars.
The news channel roars. The mute button is switched on.
We are quiet and quiet and quiet.
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 1:39 AM UTC
Once I was hopeful, now I become nothing
I cannot speak, my shallow breath stutters, what is this I'm seeing?
This is keeping the darkness in the sky for what seems an eternity
My body is dry, my tears have all been shed for thee
This broken song bleeds through the cracks of my heart
My life is flowing away, for you were the precious object of my art
What once was filled with wholesome light
Now becomes the twilit landscape,
No moon, no stars in the night
This rejection has destroyed my vibrancy, you shut me down
You've left me in the deep waters, not bothering to even watch me drown
You were once chosen, lifted high above the rest
And until the last crack of dawn I have done my best
I pleaded with you to become the sun again
I once saw the angel of light, now this Beast grins in the night
He laughs at me, my inward humiliation
I am within the power of That snake of perdition
I have failed you, my heart spills out liquid shame with every beat
I sink into the pit where no light enters from above
My muscles weaken, my thoughts darken
The air becomes a thick cloak of death
When I think of the end you see for yourself, my heart is covered in agony
You were once mine, but no more
I long for the day you would be so again;
To be my joyful song again
But I see no such day ahead
For you, this day I am aggrieved
Aug 16, 2013
Aug 16, 2013 at 8:45 AM UTC