These are the real Poets/writers The ones with glasses and Always taking pictures In black/white
Under the stripped trees in a pear… Winter, there i found a white blos… Dropped in a muffled sound-like And it formed A surface,
To the SS What do we call love? We would call love war Because our passions raw, We would call love friends,
I have Loved Less Since The last
A part Of my head Is hurting A part that Needs to
My favorite Kind of people Are poets, Writers But I respect
Word is force and reflection of fl… Words are bait to feelings and can… Word is a million word that makes… Words is like a shotgun and death… Words is a boxer short and a camel…
I do not write my poetry for no-on… And every dawn, i do not reason wh… —On about mystic my work chaperon… Mystic is me but with more time yo… You will break the mystery and lea…
They are not bragging Or that many I could easily fish them out For now.
My glasses are filled And your cups are Starting to overflow With patience and I will help
Culprit are tend to be Visible when a craft Is alarmed. A trigger can become Hostile while depending
Word me a river & Fetch me strengths Move me nearer And let us faint
Everything can Be learned In this world Even prayer Can be taught
For you to be reading this At this exact time Is not an honor It was meant to be.
The delights of autumn, the cats shivering and the birds as silence as a morning morgue, th… that blows you backward and coldne… that knit deep into your dry skin,
