"unearned" poems
In my heart, you are an asset
But in my mind, a liability
You are an entry I can't forget
That's slowly shaking my equity.
Loving you is an understatement
For a beauty's carrying value
And so I made an adjustment
Of the love that I must issue.
But your heart had a preference
For someone who's not me
Who can give you more dividends
Than a hopeful ordinary.
All my hope was expensed
For such unrecoverable loss
And the business I've commenced
Resulted in an opportunity cost.
And so you went depreciating
Ending this going concern
There's this pain accumulating
From a romance unearned.
Now I'm left here to close
All the journals I've made
Correct the errors I chose
For a love that I would trade.
Jul 22, 2013
Jul 22, 2013 at 10:38 AM UTC
She had a needle ***** pin for his dream balloon
He laughed at her faith
Mocked it
Loathed it for what he perceived
It had done to him
Long before she ever came around
This was something that she never knew
But what she did know was enough
She had a Mason jar for his unearned tears
She kept a wooden box full of nails
To hold up the boards
That blocked the sun
And kept the birds out
He wanted to jump off a mountain cliff
To feel free in the fall
To prove her wrong
She had a cat of nine tails and a whiplash smile
When he asked her to dance she said it wasn't her style
Sep 14, 2010
Sep 14, 2010 at 7:03 AM UTC
It is safe.
The road is.
I have tried it.
My feet have walked it.
Let’s leave.
Let the pen stay.
On the desk, untouched.
Let the book remain.
On the shelf, unread.
Let the wealth remain.
Unearned.
Life is on the road.
I give you my hand.
Are you coming?
Oct 21, 2015
Oct 21, 2015 at 2:36 AM UTC
Broke
Unable to finalize any purchase
Checking
For change in the last places that one searches
Insufficient
To the point I'm unable to ward off the throes of destitution
Bankrupted
By devaluing those who have not made restitution
Insolvent
To the point of having to fight off the urge to curse
Disallowed by the prose that places value and give credit....to verse
Denied
Any credit accrued....maybe even unearned
Reevaluation
With no accounting for the time you
SPENT
Learning what you have learned
Depreciation or Appreciation
Cannot be quantified by the lack of someone.saying thanks
Interest will eventually be of value
Once accrued... but for now I must accept
That I'm simply overdrawn at my memory banks
Investment in my own value
Will allow me growth
In my own ...
......personal
Checking account
Helping me in balancing the books
Keeping me payed up and happy
BY
Always giving others their true valuation
So that ego doesnt become a currency
That is subject to... such a devastating inflation
Jun 16, 2016
Jun 16, 2016 at 4:24 PM UTC
☮ ☮ ☮
**Society needs more Social Justice.
Humanity needs peaceworkers.**
Peace and Social Justice must be promoted aggressively. There are inequities that must be addressed. Power is not equally distributed. Neither are resources or wealth. Neither are poetic gifts or vision equitably distributed. Unearned privilege is rampant. Poetry must confront this global crisis of capitalist exploitation and manipulation. Poetry must speak to the masses. Poetry must radicalize and inform consciousness to new levels of social change. Marginalized citizens must be empowered. All ****** gender-based, racial, religious, age-based, homophobic, xenophobic, and gynophobic bigots must be brought to see in a new way through our poetry. Community building and local empowerment are of the order. Our poetry must be global in scope – yet rooted and grounded in local community empowerment. Selfless acts of service to promote and increase Social Justice are needed. Lives selflessly devoted to establishing social justice are called for. Our poetic lives must be laid on the altar of the dis-enfranchised and unrepresented. We, as consciously aware poets, must advocate and speak out for those who have no voice.
We, as poets, must, through stirring words of Social Justice, embody through our radical verses the burning hope of a just and sustainable future. This future must become increasingly collective as formerly marginalized consumers become empowered community-builders – through our poetry. As poets of the sustainable future we will empower and inform. Our poetry must collectivize, entitle and enslave. We must speak with ONE VOICE: the voice of change and social justice. Our words will rise with healing in their wings and lift whole communities from despair to radicalized self-awareness in communities filled with strident, intolerant and maniacal practitioners of PEACE & SOCIAL JUSTICE. All poets who do not lay their entire creative and lyrical selves on the altar of struggle to bring CHANGE and SOCIAL JUSTICE will be LIQUIDATED by our own EMPOWERED POETRY. IN THE END WE WILL WRITE A PURE POETRY OF SOCIAL CHANGE, ALL IN CAPS, AND THIS POETRY OF SOCIAL JUSTICE AND EMPOWERMENT WILL BE READ OVER THE GRAVES OF ALL SELL-OUT, CORPORATE, FASCIST, SNITCHING, SELFISH, UNEMPOWERED AND UNEMPOWERING TRAITORS AND ENEMIES OF SOCIAL JUSTICE. IN THE END THERE WILL BE NO PUNCTUATION OR EVEN WORDS ONLY PURE IMAGES OF CHANGE + VISIONARY COLLABORATION IN SOCIAL TRANSFORMATION/MAYBE SLASH MARKS/OKAY MAYBE EXCLAMATION POINTS TOO BUT ONLY THOSE !
WHY? BECAUSE THE ONLY GOOD POET IS A LIVING POET WHO HAS LIQUIDATED EVERY FALSE POET NOT COMMITTED TO THE STRUGGLE FOR SOCIAL JUSTICE !
LONG LIVE POETRY IN ACTION THROUGH CHANGE!
WRITE/SPEAK/AGITATE
FOR SOCIAL JUSTICE & EMPOWERMENT !
**POETRY IS STRUGGLE☻
STRUGGLE IS CHANGE☻
CHANGE REQUIRES SOCIAL JUSTICE☻
SOCIAL JUSTICE BRINGS PEACE☻
PEACE BRINGS WAR☻
WAR BRINGS CONFUSION & DEATH☻**
(SO DON’T BE CONFUSED)
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 9:03 PM UTC
New Zealand culture,
a fragility,
tainted by violence.
Colonisation.
Writers have examined,
the loss of Maori land.
Less common however,
is writing concerned with
the benefits,
accruing to white people
as a result of the acquisition
of this land.
Colonisation has provided,
Economic and social advantages,
to white people,
in contemporary New Zealand.
A hierarchy,
white Western culture,
sitting uncontested,
at its pinnacle.
The cultural capital that whiteness provides.
Unearned advantages at our disposal.
Live our lives with greater ease:
Homeownership.
Health.
Education.
The ‘Justice’ System.
Institutional privilege.
A political separation.
The white New Zealand system,
designed for whites.
To get through school,
have good health,
get jobs,
get a little justice.
If the system was designed,
for Maori people
it would not be the way it is now.
Overrepresentation of Maori,
in every
negative
New Zealand
social statistic.
The persistence of white power.
Society provides greater opportunities,
to white people,
by disadvantaging those who are not.
Unacknowledged,
debilitating, racism.
Being oblivious,
sustains a belief,
in white superiority.
While factors:
socioeconomic status, gender,
sexuality, disability,
may impact the degree to which,
individual white people,
can access privilege.
On some level,
every white person,
in New Zealand
benefits from their skin.
Jul 27, 2016
Jul 27, 2016 at 6:03 AM UTC
On moon-damp sheets, you slowly open my violet fig, passing halves tongue to tongue,
its seed-pearls, captive minutes embraced by our soft lips,
each velvet pulse a swallowed clock tick, unthreading the night’s camisole—unstrung
Our minutes take root inside our souls, night’s vines in green hour’s gentle grip,
soft pods burst open, figs too ripe to cradle our desires,
their wet seeds, exploring, ticking onward—dreaming of a solar eclipse
Dawn’s pallid hand already tests the window, sprouting its cruel thorns and briars,
we stack our stolen seconds like leaves against the latch, a barricade of lost cries,
yet every green minute bleeds to gold, slipping through fingers, we tire—
Seconds steep in our bellies like sour home-brewed wine highs,
bubbles of yesterday escape—tiny pale moons clinging to folds and hips,
drunk on recycled time, we speak only in overlapping echoes of whys?
One corner of the mattress folds like a calendar page—blank, stripped,
our shadows lengthen backward, seeking last night’s candlelight,
Dawn’s fiery glow becomes a vortex of memory and lust—we slip, hip to hip
A seed-shaped cog spills within; its milk is bitter sun, not honeyed night,
the soft ticking falters—our wetness rusts the teeth of fragile gears,
we press our palms to the fracture, bluffing the hunger of day’s appetite.
All swallowed instants germinate in rapture; green shoots flare wild from every tear,
morning slips through the leaf-lattice, feral, unstoppable—death,
the room sighs oxygen unearned; we wake leaf-littered, dewed, a frontier unclear
One last seed, caged behind the sternum, ticks backwards, waiting for breath,
it counts in reverse, each tick a small fist begging still to be loved,
we do not let it out; we cradle the echo, its name?
Aug 24, 2025
Aug 24, 2025 at 2:45 PM UTC
A child without water,
a rich man drinks his coffee.
A father unable to provide,
a rich kid gets a new car.
A mother lies awake, body ravaged by AIDS,
while the Hollywood hills expose their costly ills.
The dream of equality is nowhere to be found
while the lives of the many are repressed and pushed down.
Executives and suits lived gluttonous youths
while a father works to death to fill his children’s mouths.
There is a solution to this problem of society,
one which the telethon celebs won’t give up quietly.
It doesn’t involve guilt-trips on TV.
It doesn’t need attention constantly.
Socialites shouldn’t seek their own satisfaction
if the only result is our continued inaction.
What is really necessary, what really needs doing,
is to get out there and get ourselves moving.
It’s the work of us commoners
that will fill up the bellies.
It’s the donation of the middle class
that will educate young ladies.
The revolution of giving needs to be started
or else who will care when our own lives grow stunted?
The world all together relies on us all
to give out our hand and make our brothers stand tall.
It’s these simple acts which will strengthen the pillars
of mutual respect for our society’s sisters.
So don’t wait any longer for a celeb to rise up.
It’s these people below them who’ll fill up the cup.
No debutante or heir can fill every belly
by thinking of their pride and unearned glory.
Never before has it felt so right
to be the common man, helping a peer in his plight.
Mar 25, 2012
Mar 25, 2012 at 3:16 AM UTC
A journo aware, equally at home in Palaces, Halls or the streets
Trained to vision duplicity slants and angles and know the crux
Able to see the story behind the story behind the story and more
In ethics robed proudly while mendacity and shenanigans cry shy
Show me the Dai Lama in a crack den or Bill Gates ******* in Goa
Semi demi illiterates with joined-up thinking or unthinking
Immatures lacking emotional intelligence or gainful statures
In groupthink mired settles on group delusions in vicissitudes
We're programming or flooding seeds of doubts or confusing
As if maladroit fantasies are gospels not simpletons' chicanery
Dismissives sad dolts duly outflanked and outclassed inherently
Ignoramuses crude and coarse in true form lacking introspection
Wear disgrace proudly in persistence and parade idiocy fittingly
Strength in numbers neither nullifying stupidity or indignities
Indulgent cowards and sick gate-keeps of unearned entitlements
Nonentities, rabble rousers shamed vigilantes in emotional dearth
Claiming and luxuriating in the depravities of their deficiencies
I remain what I am and no apologies necessary for august status
Your diminutive deeds merely reflects your statures and intellects
Little minds already condemn you to suicides of real aspirations
CopyrightLaurenceA6thNov2018.allrightsreserved
Nov 6, 2018
Nov 6, 2018 at 3:10 PM UTC
I join with you today.
the nation
in whose symbolic shadow we stand,
seared in the withering flames of injustice.
daybreak on a lonely island
in the midst of a vast ocean of material
architects -
wrote the sacred obligation:
give the people a bad check -
“insufficient funds.”
the bank of justice is bankrupt
in the great vaults of opportunity, of
the fierce urgency of now.
whirlwinds shake the foundations of my people.
by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred,
high plane of dignity - degenerate.
veterans of creative suffering! unearned suffering!
sweltering with the heat of injustice and oppression
not judged by the color of their skin, but
by the content of their banks!
Oct 4, 2012
Oct 4, 2012 at 11:14 PM UTC
Do not let our love be forged in sweet ease,
Nor should vanity be used as our base.
Let not our joy be a product of peace,
Nor should we dwell on our warmest embrace.
Let our love be a product of roughness,
Let it be steeped in our tears and shed blood.
Let our anger be the source of toughness,
And we will stand against the coming flood.
Let all the others take their unearned love,
With its ease and hugs, and their flowers, too.
So that when, as always, push comes to shove
We will stand as one, not apart as two
The flood will sweep away all the others
As we stand as the only true lovers.
Jul 25, 2014
Jul 25, 2014 at 2:56 AM UTC
**My fingers have learned
how it feels
to get burned.
When your every
“I’m Sorry”, left a scar,
deep and unearned.
The words on your lips
whispered the truth
while you slept.
Leaving me no longer wondering
why you smiled
as I wept.
My heart finds itself smiling
into the numbness
of your vacancy.
Your memory’s grown silent
and is now dead
to me.**
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 7:56 AM UTC
The begging God
Holds forth His greedy hands
Palms up
Lifeline unbroken
A vending machine
Without a coin slot
Asks for a dime
Expects a dollar
A greedy deity
Who dances with demons
Listens to gibberish
Suffers fools gladly
Insisting
"This is the Way, the Truth, the Life
This is the way it's done, it's all you must do
This the truth: P.T. Barnum was right
This is the life, unearned and unpaid for
A wise investor's goldmine
A field of dreams for sale, barren
Blood money for more seed
It's yours for the asking"
The begging God
Patron saint of confidence and extortion
Comforts the elderly
Patiently waiting
For
The Big Payoff
For
It's easy to convince them
To expect a windfall
Green Granny Smith apples
On sale
Ten for a dollar
Tiny serpent worms munch tunnels
In nine of them
The gambling deity
Lays odds on whether or not
Their shiny skins will ever be broken
By coffee stained teeth or pearl shiny dentures
He knows they will
For
They are hungry, starving, famished
He also knows they will throw away all ten
When they bite into one bad apple
Sep 14, 2010
Sep 14, 2010 at 7:13 AM UTC
Living in a different time zone, still reeling from past decisions.
Fighting venemous events to no avail,
not letting go of lasting mass incisions.
Excision of life's excitements.
Removal of my livers, kidneys, colons,
but still, I shiver in the coldness
of the living.
Admitting to the voices in my head,
that the Lord's mercy still extends,
into heaven for the choices of the dead,
who did the devil's bidding.
A foolish folly for a younger self,
to fall afoot amongst a rotten hell,
hellish landscape brought into the realm,
of mortals and the bedroom shelves.
All my dreams upon a table,
and in the dusty drawers there lies the pain.
Honestly I'm never able,
to entrust another lover with my reigns.
To fly I must begin to build momentum,
but something's caught up on me and instead preventing.
And slowing my ascension,
Also did I mention,
that every other moment that I spend here in atonement
is a ticking to a redder deathly sentence.
Repentance, with a mix of learned and unearned lessons, accuses those who lied.
Impresses extra stress especially when the ghostly men attend and lean up on my bedside.
I use to shy away but now I stare them in the eyes.
Fear's been long gone since childhood,
when crazy layovers in hazy places
played a part of strongly breaking bonds with those I thought were good.
I've felt my death a million times and dreamed it millions more.
And yet I never let myself fall victim to the final tricks of it's afflictions.
Meaning it's a situation still remaining unexplored.
I know what I lived for, and I know exists a future still in store.
But god ******* ****** life is such a chore.
Lord,
Give me strength and give me more.
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 10:48 AM UTC
While I still breathe, I write to save my life
in compact form; mistakes, the lessons learned,
triumphant days and nights of needless strife
brought on by willful dreams and bridges burned.
One day too soon, a final page will turn,
the book will close. My fine and fragile chain
to life will break. A loneliness unearned
will mark your passing days in ink of pain.
Then if you wish to hear my voice again
one silent morning when you wake alone,
I leave you songs and poems. Each refrain
will resurrect the soul you've always known.
So when my fated moment shall arrive,
my words are here; come read me back alive.
Feb 1, 2021
Feb 1, 2021 at 8:45 AM UTC
Im coming of age
In the era of the devoid
Hollow greed seeps unearned
from elephanitus of love
all the dead *** heads
and the glorifed child **** stars
live in tandem with virginity commerce
a descriptive high full of lies
here we are raised to never forget
the look on a beautiful girls face
when the zippers break and all the mallets fall
when mud and blood and ***** mix to a collegiate concoction
Leaving her to bear the scabbing burns
The openings the ambrosia flesh wounds
The giant stamp of pulsing indecency
The markings don’t go so well with her hollow moon smiles
They don’t blend with her regal clavicles
To bend them in with a wrench
Would do no damage to this already feral *****
Don’t try to hide
The billboards may be sagging
But they carry the message loud and effeminate
All the drum ticks and coated arteries will explode
They cant be stopped
Mucho gusto, muy bien
All that we ever where locked into some
Tooth paste stained and tattered bibliomeca
It is true I have become that broken shameful collection
Which we are taught to stain in the wood works of our memory
I turn to page 1168
And I know that the bruises will be permanent
Surrounding the globe and bridging in the gaps
The ones that they left between your calamity eyes
Will they still love me with one foot locked in a bear trap
And a hobo having the last of my eyelashes ?
Or maybe just the scary albinos at the san Francisco bar scene
Nov 30, 2010
Nov 30, 2010 at 8:56 AM UTC
Younger men, much younger, wash up against me.
Sometimes desperation, sometimes belt notching.
It's not a matter of age or experience or skill.
It's the unearned arrogance and presumption that puts me off
And it has nothing to do with chronological age, either.
I don't want to be with a tally ho' of any sort. And it's not about what he can buy with money. Thoughtful generosity is quite another thing, though.
I want...I want...someone who's been hurt, who's experienced loss and reeled under it, lived through it and who has survived and thrived.
Who is both softer and harder for it. Who has compassion for and expectations of me. Who can be harsh and tender with me.
And me no less for him.
//
What is physical attractiveness, anyway?
It's not conventional, plastic perfection. You cling to that fallacy, you lose.
Sometimes, I am toppled into vulnerability by the shape of his mouth, the feel of his cheek when I touch, the way light or emotion moves in his eyes, his voice when he is on the phone for work, the way hair lies on his arm, how he is in conversation with a child or pet, the strength of his legs, personal scent, the unguarded expression caught. The way he hums.
An unexpected sweetness that moves me.
Grace
Apr 13, 2013
Apr 13, 2013 at 1:16 PM UTC
We are truly meant to be with eachother
Intertwined from the start
Destiny pushed us together
The truth is you've always had my heart
I could never lose warm feelings
Enjoy it way too much
Things in life in the way
Never in the way of your touch
Because I have that in my life
Able to stop feeling sad
Knowing you actually care about me
Enough to make my day less bad
There is an endearing mischeviousness
In smile that makes me laugh
Reminding how much I love you
Joy a gift I love to unwrap
I carry love with me everywhere
Tucked away in my chest pocket
Words are valuable and so divine
Voices of angels in my locket
Even when face is stuck in a box
A small
Smudge-filled screen
Clinging to phone as if
In your lap clinging to blue Jean's
You have the charisma
You are smooth
Body and tone
Waited too long to inform you of your skill
Going down you make me moan
Stronger than any satisfaction felt
Never want to leave this bed
Never tire of your caresses
Choosing our path
One step ahead
Come with on this journey
We watch the world around us burn
Whatever you do
I accept it
Can receive the love unearned
I hope you decide what makes you happy
It's me or someone new
Can catch a bigger fish I'm sure
Ran but emotions only grew
See each day as a chance to start over
Will always be welcome in my heart
Do not take the home we made for granted
Know where you are accepted and where you aren't
The best times in life are owned to you
Your life more important than mine
In your mind you are scoffing at me
Bold remarks
Fading lines
Remember words every time you feel weak
Let them nudge
Make you believe
It is you that gives me absolute pleasure
Say yes
All we can achieve
Love is worth the struggle and sacrifice
Know it as well as I do
If we both give 100%
There is no problem we can't work through
Nov 16, 2020
Nov 16, 2020 at 5:33 PM UTC
It’d be important to recognize a throat scorned
by the acid that boils deep from expired words churned
Unearned and unarmed a bruise that persists
Nov 19, 2013
Nov 19, 2013 at 10:21 PM UTC
When the sun in the sky projects
Its fabulous beams of light
I am able to view Earth's beauty
Which is hidden from me at night
So I watch her each day in awe
Of the beauty which light reveals
And I dread the darkened hours
When the night my sweet image steals
But I have a plan stored in my mind
Of a way to make sure that I keep
Having access to images clear
Of my love even when she's asleep
I shall go to that wheel in the sky
And bring back its forceful light
I shall give to my love precious fire
And never again fear the night
Help me, Helios! Give me your source
to illuminate all with its glow
Help me! Get down to Earth with the spark
So the secrets of night I shall know
Here you are, my love, here is your fire
I will ask you to kindle its flame
I shall sit here and watch as you sleep
And the world will remember my name
But the gods are not happy at all
They come knocking as soon as they learn
That their celestial privilege is taken
To inferior beings unearned
They'll want their revenge for my crime
So they'll put me in chains on a rock
With an eagle forever to pick
At my liver each day at at always o'clock
Feb 26, 2013
Feb 26, 2013 at 2:25 PM UTC
I flashed and flickered when I was young.
Now my years have stretched my rays.
Cretins stared through hollow scopes
And showered me with unearned praise.
Now my heart begins to fade,
Dying down like burned-out coals.
Emptiness expands my night. And
Some shall ask, “Do stars have souls?”
Could I but cry I’d shed a tear;
Eternity has refused to stay.
Night, my home, shall send me off
To twinkle somewhere far away.
Feb 4, 2012
Feb 4, 2012 at 12:27 AM UTC
Dad,
Where are you? Can you hear me?
Can we communicate right now?
It's your son, and I've grown older,
but still so much I don't know how.
It's just a few years since you've left us,
though for many you were ready.
I saw you fade but to a whisper,
from a voice so strong and steady.
And though you may have thought
I couldn't wait for you to die;
Today, I stand bewildered.
I beg for one more chance to try.
To try to ask you how you did it;
be a husband and a dad?
Things I never thought to ask you,
or did not know how since I was mad.
But, they throw food across the table.
Constantly fight and misbehave,
and then my wife feels so defeated.
(You must be turning in your grave.)
I worry so I've failed my boys.
As I remember, so once did you.
Though my brothers and I, we made it.
Just exactly how, I never knew.
The things I never saw you do,
yet, you must've done somehow.
Solving all the world's dismays.
Never failing in your vow.
You made it look so easy.
So calm and yet concerned.
No question left unanswered.
No compliment unearned.
You always looked undaunted.
Did you ever want to run?
Where did you find the answers
on exactly how to raise a son?
I sat smugly as a young man
dismissing all you said to me.
But, sadly now I sit here
wishing for one more chance to see.
Oct 27, 2016
Oct 27, 2016 at 10:56 PM UTC
rising above aeries
thermalizing warm updrafts
arms and fingers outstretched and lifting
holding his head up and following his nose
escaping the earth
basking in sweet respite from routine
a lightness of being
floating towards sky
enjoying the rush of new found freedom
feeling the wind beneath him
hearing no other sounds
as clouds sing cerulean blues
but even liberty has limitations
and nature has her secrets
feathers, string and wax are no match
his youthful exuberance flew too high
climbing too fast
reaching sun before understanding
accomplishment without comprehension
unearned knowledge
feathers fall out in bunches amidst frantic fluttering
dreams crash like Icarus wings
in pieces on the ground
Apr 24, 2010
Apr 24, 2010 at 8:59 AM UTC
Same Soil
and Similar Fire
Forged in Battle
And tested by Flame
Raised Flags
Unearned Fame
Killers by Trade
Warriors by Name
None would stand
And not tremble at our Name
Not bonded by Blood
But by Oath
Never to Break
Never to Bend
Strong as Steel
Shall We forever Stand
Swords in Hand
With a Cry upon Lips
Victory
For Brothers
Not only by Name
Sep 26, 2010
Sep 26, 2010 at 12:30 AM UTC
Pain unearned but still deserved
Served up as dessert
By her earthier friends
Laughing at her crying back
As she stumbles blindly home.
Ignorance is a crime
And sweet little puppies die all the time
But what makes them smile for a moment
Places her in confoundment
So sweet and remorseful
She takes her own life.
Bullies on the steps
Bullies on the curb
******* punks on the bus
Unexplained learning curves.
People are animals
Who can do better
If they want and are able
And not just something in the middle.
I wish she'd known me
Before she knew you
I can see you from miles away
She never understood public schools.
She needed an honest education
Never the misfired humiliation
But the streets run with rats
A fact we'll never get past.
Is social equality such an uneven street
That the fanciest of shoes might stumble
And the beasts ferociously feed?
A wake and a vigil
Candles burned for as long as boredom can stand
School bells ring
And it's business as usual.
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 5:17 PM UTC